


Touched

by FiraHunter



Series: Touched [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angel True Forms (Supernatural), Castiel's Angelic Grace (Supernatural), Castiel's True Form (Supernatural), Character Study, Demon True Forms, Dom Castiel (Supernatural), Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Mild Smut, Original Character(s), Originally Posted on FanFiction.Net, Protective Castiel (Supernatural), Romance, Telepathy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:20:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 29
Words: 79,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28036836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FiraHunter/pseuds/FiraHunter
Summary: Book One. Brooke gave up Hunting for a normal life five years ago, but that all changes when she finds herself surrounded by demons and prays for deliverance. Thrust into a life she never wanted, and with a strange and overwhelming connection to an angel, she is forced to adapt. (Seasons 4&5)
Relationships: Castiel (Supernatural)/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Touched [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2053692
Comments: 7
Kudos: 36





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I'm new to this website, and originally posted this book/series on Fanfic.net. I'm completely done with this book, and the second one, and currently writing/uploading the third one. From now on I will be cross-posting them to both places. Hope you enjoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome! Just a quick note about this series. What is the Touched series? It follows the storyline of the TV show pretty closely, with very few big changes, though many small ones. It is basically "Supernatural… with an added OC," and it mainly follows Castiel's storyline, specifically. Think of it like a Castiel character study, from the POV of a female OC. Hope this helps you decide if you'd like to stick around and read it or not! Thanks.

_One_

Brooke was walking to her car after work when it happened. She should never have been out this late at night, but her manager had called and asked her to work a night shift. She'd had half a mind to say no, knowing the things she did, but she'd agreed for two reasons. One: she needed the money; working as a cashier at a fast-food place didn't pay much. Two: she'd spent the last five years try to convince herself that not every person who walked down the street was a monster in disguise. There wasn't a reason to fear going out at night, not as long as she kept her nose out of other people's business.

She was ten feet from her car when the black smoke flew around the side of a building and straight for her face. She had one second to begin to react—to think, _What the fuck is that?_ And then it was inside her, her mouth compelled to open by some force.

Everything was wrong. Her body felt wrong; her brain felt wrong; she was no longer herself. She had become someone else, but the real her was still in there somewhere. There was pain. Unimaginable pain. Images flashed in her mind, visions of Hell. How she knew it was Hell was obvious: there was nowhere else it could possibly be. People—humans—screamed and cried out for God, for their mothers, for the horror of it all to stop.

She was walking, walking away from her car. She was back in the parking lot.

More screaming, the heat of the Flame. Her mind reeled, scrabbling at itself. Brooke tried to tell herself it wasn't real. She must be hallucinating all of this. She had been in the parking lot only a moment before. Fire licked at her arms.

She stood at the doors of a warehouse. One door opened and she went inside. There were others here. They smiled at her, and their smiles were wicked. Their eyes were black. Their faces, underneath the human facades, were wrong. They were horrible, twisted, vile faces, too terrible to look upon.

No. No, they couldn't all be… demons. No, she'd never hunted demons. She'd always stayed away. Why would they go after her?

She was possessed. That had been the smoke.

"No," she said, but her voice was weak.

_Stop fighting me_ , said a voice in her mind, loudly. _My friends want to play with you._

She was reeling again. The voice, on its own, had smacked her back down. Down to the Pit. She was trapped in her own head, in the Hell that this demon was making for her. She was chained up in a cell somewhere. A man came towards her, but his face was wrong. His body was wrong. It was twisted, just like the faces in the warehouse.

The warehouse…

She came up again, as if her head had been pushed underwater. She was tied to a chair, and the faces were smiling and laughing, jeering at her. Her mouth opened, and the black smoke poured from her like projectile vomit. She screamed as the demon left her body and swirled away. Now she was alone again—just Brooke—but somehow that didn't comfort her. She was no longer possessed, but now she was tied to a chair surrounded by demons.

She was too terrified even to scream now, her eyes flicking to one of the demons as he took a knife from his coat pocket. He came close to her, holding the knife out in front of him and grinning that horrible, twisted grin. Somehow, the smile made his face look worse. She saw the darkness in him, the inner torment, the pain that twisted his features into the monstrous creature that he was underneath the human skin he was wearing.

She did the only thing she could think to do. She prayed. Even with her eyes closed, she could sense the demons around her, and she felt them flinch when she invoked the name of God. They laughed immediately afterwards, but she had felt them flinch first. That gave her hope. She kept her eyes squeezed shut, praying all the harder for God to deliver her from evil.

The knife blade raked down the side of her face. Brooke screamed, her prayer broken, eyes flaring open in shock. All things considered, it was a flesh wound. Back during her hunting days, she had suffered much worse, but it had been five years since she'd hunted anything. Five years, and she'd gone soft in the meantime. The wound on her cheek felt like fire.

The air suddenly began to rumble, and the ground shook. The demons with their terrible faces looked as if they'd all had buckets of ice water—or maybe holy water—splashed on them. They simultaneously turned their faces upwards, looking around in abject fear. Brooke felt their fear invade her, and in turn, felt her own terror. Something was coming. Something so big, so vast, that it was nearly beyond her comprehension.

She breathed hard, staring at the doors of the warehouse. It was there, right behind those doors. Whatever it was. The doors burst open—an action that should have been loud, but she heard nothing. Nothing but a ringing in her ears. No, a roaring. No… No, what was it?

_What was it?_

Her eyes filled with light, a light so all-encompassing that her surroundings vanished. Somewhere in the center of all that light was a tiny pinprick of something darker. A bipedal shape. A human? It was so small compared to the light around it that she could hardly focus on it. She felt tears coursing down her cheeks, and the salt stung the wound on her face.

Slowly, slowly, her senses came back to her. She could see the warehouse, washed out by the light, but still there. She watched the center of the light, that tiny bit of human inside, walk forward. A few of the demons exited their prisoners and flew out through the warehouse doors.

The man in the center of the light shouted, "Shield your eyes!"

Her mind reeled from his voice, for she had just heard two voices overlapping. One sounded small, but gruff. Normal. Human.

The voice that had far outweighed that one was so different from anything she had ever heard as to be incomprehensible. It seemed to penetrate her thoughts, her very being, down to her core. It sliced through her and was so loud that she thought her ears must be bleeding. She was so in shock from what she'd just heard that she forgot what he had even said. Her eyes remained open as the tiny human inside the light took hold of one of the demon's heads in one hand.

Light, light from this being, shone through the demon's eyes, so bright that its entire body seemed to turn into a candle from the inside. And then the demon was gone, and the human body it had been possessing lay prone on the ground. The only demon left was the one who had cut her cheek. The one standing closest to where Brooke was tied to the chair.

The being of light came closer to her, to kill this demon, and Brooke gasped and began to sob in earnest at the being's closeness. The roaring in her ears was still going, and her head felt like it would explode. Yet this… being… whatever it was… was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. And this pain that he caused her was exquisite. She was terrified and calm at the same time. She knew that, with a flick of his hand, this creature could destroy her. But she knew that he wouldn't. He had come to save her.

She squinted against the light that made up his body—his real body—and began to see distinctive qualities. What she saw mainly were wings. They were massive, and they shimmered in and out of her vision, like a mirage. The rest of him was so vast that she could not get a grasp of his form. All she knew was that he filled the entire warehouse, and probably extended some ways outside and beyond it. The light that made up his body was pure, and yes, beautiful, but it was cold. His was a terrible beauty, as terribly beautiful as the demons had been terribly ugly. Yet he was so much larger than any demon.

"Don't worry," he said, and his voice cut through her once more.

She gasped, both at the voice, and at the fact that he was nearly touching her now. So close, she could really see the human at the center. He was just a man… A man in a… a trench coat. He had dark, disheveled hair and eyes of impossible blue. He was handsome, but he was just a man. His true form extended beyond this human body, but was attached to it. How something so small could hold something so expansive was beyond her.

"Don't cry. I won't hurt you. I'm here to rescue you."

Brooke felt another sob rack through her body, but she managed a nod.

The human face looked at her in confusion, his head tilted to the side, eyes squinting at her. He studied her for a moment, and she could feel his true form studying her, as well. His scrutiny of her was overwhelming. He had not even touched her yet, but her body felt flayed, raw, cut wide open at his curiosity.

He began to reach for the rope binding her to the chair, but she was afraid that if he touched her accidentally while untying it, that she would die. "What are you?" she asked, her voice coming out at as a petrified squeak. She forced herself to focus on the part of him that was human, lest she become lost in the rest of him.

Those blue eyes stared into hers with all the seriousness of a heart attack. "I'm an angel of the Lord," he said, and the truth of his words sliced into her mind with just as much strength as everything else he had said to her.

Another sob stole through her, and she knew then that she was safe. He was terrifying and cold and so enormous that she could hardly look at him, but he was an angel. And he was beautiful. He was heartbreakingly exquisite. She smiled, though her lips trembled with sobs. "Yes," she whispered. "You must be. You're… magnificent." She allowed herself to look away from his blue eyes, to the rest of him, studying his wings, and the rest of his form that filled up the warehouse, lighting up every dark corner so that it looked as if the sun had been transported inside. When she found his human eyes again, they were squinting once more.

He stared at her for a time without speaking, though she could feel his curiosity on her again, poking and prodding at her body and mind. It felt like she was being stabbed with a thousand knives, but the pain wasn't really pain.

"You can see me," he said, after what felt like an eternity. It was not a question.

She almost laughed, but was so overwhelmed that the thought of laughing was exhausting. "Of course I can see you," she said, weakly. "You're… _everywhere_."

He was quiet again for a long time, staring at her. His stare made her at once uncomfortable and ecstatic at the same time. Her eyes wandered, flitting from his human face—those blue eyes—to his true form that surrounded her. Those wings that were there, but… not.

He reached for her again, grabbing the rope that tied her to the chair. The ropes snapped under his hands like old, brittle rubber bands, crumbling into almost nothing. He had not touched her, but his hand, so close to her body, had felt like fire.

She was free to stand, now, but he was still standing right beside her, looking down at her. The idea of standing up was terrifying. Yet she felt compelled to touch him. It was odd; a minute ago she'd been afraid he would kill her if he touched her, but now that her own hands were free, the urge to put her hands on his face was almost too strong to resist. She swallowed her fear and made herself look into his eyes without looking away. Neither of them blinked for what felt like an eternity. Her heart beat wildly in her chest, her breath catching.

Eventually, she squeezed her eyes shut and rubbed them with her hands. Her eyes had dried out. A semblance of courage came to her and she said, "Are you going to let me get up?" She opened her eyes again and looked at him.

He was giving her the puppy-dog look, head tilted to one side, squinting. "I was never preventing you from getting up."

She took a deep breath, bracing herself on the chair, and stood up. He did not step back to give her space. They stood inches apart. His human form was fairly taller than her, which seemed fitting. This close to his face, she felt supremely uncomfortable, like standing too close to a bonfire. Somewhere between wanting to touch him and wanting to get as far away from him as possible, she took a step back from him.

He blinked at her. "You're bleeding," he said.

"Oh," she replied stupidly, touching her face where the demon had cut her.

He reached out a hand to touch her face and she jerked backwards, out of his reach. His being was intoxicating, yet she still had this strange feeling that touching him would mean instant death, like maybe she'd catch fire and burn to a crisp in the blink of an eye. The jerky movement she'd made to get out of reach of his hand caused her to trip over one of the legs of the chair. She started to fall.

He grabbed her arm.

She heard a scream from somewhere far away, not realizing that she was one screaming. A thousand-thousand voices echoed in her mind—all the same voice. His voice. His true voice, the one that had sliced through her mind when he'd shouted at her to shield her eyes. His true voice did not speak English, or any language she knew. And it was speaking so many things at once that, even were she able to discern what language it was, she would not have been able to understand any one thing he was saying. His voice was so loud and overwhelming that it felt as if her head were ripping open.

But even through all the noise, the horrifying chaos of it all, there was beauty. There was clarity. There was a sense that, as long as she stayed here, in this space, she would be safe. Nothing could reach her here, for he would protect her. Nothing could possibly get past him, for he was an angel of the Lord. His light and presence were holy, his light the light of God. She gave into his many voices, though she could understand none of them, and felt as if she were floating on a fast-flowing river with no bends, and no rocks to run into. She felt like she was flying, but attached to a rocket.

The voices were jerked away violently, and she cried out when her knees hit the concrete of the warehouse floor. She stared at her knees, gasping for air like a fish out of water. His thoughts. She had just heard his thoughts, been in his mind. Her breaths came quickly, jerkily, and she began to sob all over again. It was all too much. Too much stimuli. Too much too quickly. And it wouldn't go away, not all of it. She couldn't hear his thoughts anymore, but she could still see his light. It pushed at her even when her eyes were closed.

For endless minutes, she breathed, cried, and tried to remember who she was. All she could see, hear, feel, think, was his presence. All she craved was the rush of thoughts in her mind, the closeness of him. She grit her teeth and pressed her hands, hard, into the floor, to make herself feel human again. Slowly, the rushing, floating feeling left her enough for her to find the courage to look at him.

He was staring at her. Again. And the look in his eyes was some emotion she could not comprehend.

Her cheek tingled. She reached up to touch the place where the knife had cut her and found smooth skin instead. He had healed her. "Castiel," she said, her voice cracking as she spoke his name. A name she had found when he had reached out to stop her from falling. A name she had found while rocketing through his mind. She opened her mouth to say something else, anything else, but no words could even begin to describe what had just happened. "Castiel," she said again, her voice a whisper, for it was the only word she knew.

He reached down so fast that she did not have time to react. Two fingers pressed to her forehead, and she fell into darkness.


	2. Chapter 2

_Two_

When Brooke awoke, she felt as if she’d been drugged. Her head swam before she even tried to sit up, and when she _did_ try, she felt nauseous. She groaned, holding her head in her hands, feeling like she’d caught a bad case of the flu.

Everything that had happened the night before came crashing down around her like a tidal wave. She was wide awake, and pulled her hands away from her face to see where she was. She recognized nothing in this dingy motel room. Nothing but the dark-haired man sitting on the edge of the other bed in the room. She stared at him.

“Hello, Brooke,” he said, in a rather emotionless voice.

She said nothing, narrowing her eyes. She knew he was the angel that had rescued her the night before, but now, sitting there on the edge of the bed, he looked shockingly human. Still, the harder she squinted at him, the more the edges of him seemed to shimmer, and there was a glow coming from him, as if he were backlit.

“Where…” she began, but then she noticed the other man laying down in the bed that the angel was sitting on. “Who is he?” she demanded.

“Dean Winchester,” the angel said calmly. “He’s sleeping now. He won’t wake until the vision is over.”

Brooke stared at the angel, uncomprehending. “What?”

“It’s not important for you to know.”

Brooke sat and stared at him, feeling as if her brain were melting. She scrubbed at her face with her hands, trying to figure out what to ask first. “Okay,” she said, with a deep breath. “Where is… the rest of you?” she asked, gesturing at him in a vague manner with her hands. “Last night you were… more, uh… well, more everything.” It struck her how odd this conversation was. The night before, she’d hardly been able to speak to him at all. But now, sitting there in his human form, so unassuming, he seemed almost normal. The awe and fear she had felt last night now seemed misplaced.

Castiel—for she had just remembered his name—gave her a look that was, perhaps, the barest hint of a smile. “I have shielded my true form from you. You may not have gone blind, but you were overwhelmed, and I couldn’t have you falling apart all over again when you woke up.”

Brooke continued to stare at Castiel, feeling angry, for some reason, that he would prevent her from seeing his true form. Still, this did make it easier to talk to him. She thought again how he wasn’t nearly as terrifying now, nor as utterly beautiful. His human form was handsome,she supposed, but she found his face bland and uninteresting after the view of him she’d seen the night before. His true form was radiant and…

“Why did you bring me here?” she asked, desperate to get a grip on herself, and to figure out exactly what the hell was going on.

“Wait,” Castiel said, his voice suddenly different.

She blinked at him. “Wait for w—

His eyes began to glow, and he straightened rigidly on the edge of the bed, as if he were a soldier and a commanding officer had just walked into the room.

“H-hello?” Brooke tried, leaning forward a little on her bed across the room from him.

He did not respond. He remained rigid, eyes glowing a bright blue-white for about a minute, and then he was suddenly back. That strange glow in his eyes disappeared and his body seemed to relax slightly.

Brooke leaned back again, and she said slowly, “Okay, whaaaat the fuuuuuuck.” Despite how normal Castiel looked now, she knew that he was not, and the strangeness of all of this was catching up to her. She could feel herself beginning to crack under the strain of trying to keep her shit together.

“I needed to speak to Dean for a moment,” Castiel said, in a tone that suggested that he had given all the explanation necessary.

Brooke had had enough. She’d had the craziest night of her life, and for a hunter, that was saying something, and now this angel was refusing to explain himself. She inhaled sharply and yelled, “Tell me what the _fuck_ is going on! Why were demons after me last night? Why did you rescue me? H-how do you even exist? Why are you here? Why can I see you the way that I can? I…” She ran out of steam somewhere along the way, and fell silent to give herself time to take a breath.

Castiel’s face had gone from relaxed to irritated over the course of her tirade. He now looked like some Greek statue of an angry god—which wasn’t far off, all things considered. He narrowed his eyes at her, chin jutting. “There is information about my mission that is not yours to know,” he said slowly, his voice even lower than usual, and dangerous. His eyes flashed that blue-white color again, and then he took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and when he opened them, they were back to normal.

But she had felt it. Just for a moment. Righteous anger. An emotion that overwhelmed her mind, her senses. It had been so intense it had broken through whatever barrier Castiel had put up between them. She sat in the bed and gasped for air for a few seconds, before those red-hot claws of anger disappeared from her mind. When she felt she could breathe normally again, she lifted her head and looked at him. She was shocked to see that his face had returned to its neutral expression, as if nothing had happened.

“Right,” she said, taking a deep breath and forcing down the tears that threatened to spill over. She felt as if she’d just been slapped in the face by an angry parent. “So I won’t ask about… Dean.” She glanced at him as she said his name, taking in his features. He was still completely out of it, and she had to really look to see that he was even breathing. She looked back at the angel, though found that her eyes skittered away of their own accord after the display of anger he had just shown. “What _can_ you tell me?”

“I was nearby, relatively speaking, when you prayed for assistance last night,” Castiel said. His voice held no trace of malice. “At that moment, I was not otherwise occupied, so I answered your prayer. I was…” His eyes lingered on her face, searching, for a moment.

She felt the barrier between them slip for the second time, but only for a heartbeat. The breath caught in her throat.

“I was not expecting… you.”

“Me,” she whispered, feeling as if the universe were playing some cruel trick on her. “What _about_ me?”

“You can see my true form,” he replied. “That would be strange enough in itself, except that _you_ can see my true form _through_ my vessel. That is, as far as we know, unheard of.”

“We?” Brooke asked faintly, feeling as though every answer that Castiel gave just confused her more.

“The other angels. I conferred with them last night after I put you to sleep. They’ve never heard of a human who is able to discern an angel’s true form through a human vessel.”

“You’re telling me that not everyone can see… _you_? All they see is…?” Once again, she gestured vaguely at him, at his small, frumpy, human form. Small, at least compared to his true form.

“Yes. Most humans who see my true form go blind. Their eyes burn out of their skulls. It’s… quite painful.”

Brooke stared at him, unsure of how to take this news. Then she thought of something that made the hair on the back of her neck stand up. “I can see demons, too,” she said slowly, looking at him askance to see what his reaction would be.

He squinted, his eyes roving around the room as he thought about what she had said. “I can only assume,” he began slowly, “that you can see demons’ true forms because they were created by Lucifer, who is an angel. A fallen angel, yes, but an angel nonetheless.”

Brooke put her face in her hands. The Devil was real. Satan was real. She was not truly surprised by this. If angels were real, then surely Lucifer must be real. Still, her mind shied away from the realization of it. What did it all mean? Castiel spoke of rescuing her as if he had simply been at the right place at the right time. If she had been kidnapped at any other time, would she simply have died, tied to that chair? She took deep breaths, trying to pull her thoughts together into a story that made sense.

She glanced at the man laying, passed out, on the bed. Dean Winchester. Winchester like the gun… Her eyes wandered. She’d heard that last name before. Sam and Dean Winchester were well-known hunters. She hadn’t thought of it at first because she had stopped hunting five years ago, but she’d heard whispers, mostly of Dean. Some things about their father, as well. She heard, but she ignored it all, too busy focusing on having a normal life to care about the exploits of a family of hunters. It was good enough just to know that they, and others like them, were out there, fighting the good fight. It gave her the courage to walk away and let others fight for her.

“Castiel,” she said, and a thrill went through her at his name. “Why did you bring me… here? If I can’t know what’s going on, why am I anywhere near here?”

“I… wasn’t sure where else to bring you,” he replied, and his voice, for once, sounded unsure. It was a strange emotion, coming from him. “The other angels have commanded me to protect you, to prevent any other demons from possessing you or holding you hostage. They’re not sure what the demons wanted from you last night, but the fact that you can see our true forms makes you dangerous in the wrong hands.”

Brooke almost laughed at such a statement. “Did you not notice the way I reacted to you last night?” she asked. “How could I possibly be a danger to your kind? I might not go blind, but I can hardly look at you.”

“We don’t know the extent of your powers. You might be compelled by some evil presence to pray to us, to lure us in, or to allow the demons to locate us. Many of my garrison have already been slain by demons in the past weeks. We don’t need a human like you wandering around unprotected, accidentally seeing us, pinpointing our location to those who would destroy us.”

Brooke shook her head slowly, unable to comprehend the fact that she could even hold such a power. “I promise if you let me go home, I’ll never leave my house again. I won’t attract any attention to myself.”

“You weren’t attracting any attention to yourself last night, either, and they still found you. Still, you may be right.” Castiel paused, clearly thinking about something. “The Winchesters seem to attract trouble wherever they go. Perhaps it would be safer to allow you to return home.”

Brooke breathed a sigh of relief. The events of the night before were beginning, already, to feel like some fever dream. Without her ability to see Castiel as he truly was, the morning felt mundane, and she was eager to return to her normal life and put this all behind her. Speaking of the mundane world, she suddenly realized that she desperately needed to pee, and her stomach was growling. She glanced up at the angel, almost shyly and asked, “Will we be here for a while?”

“Yes,” was his only reply.

She nodded and got up, feeling woozy at first, but quickly regaining her sense of balance. She wandered about the motel room, heading to the bathroom first. She shut the door firmly and locked it, though she didn’t know why. Somehow she didn’t imagine that Castiel would suddenly burst into the bathroom while she was peeing.

Afterwards, she went around looking for food. The mini fridge was only stocked water bottles. She took one and drank its contents, and then sat back down on the bed with a sigh. “I’m hungry,” she said, to no one in particular. Castiel said nothing. She glanced up at him, still feeling skittish even being around him, and saw that his eyes were once again glowing blue-white. He remained unresponsive for a long time, gone somewhere far away, though his body was sitting in the room with her.

She sighed, a long, defeated sound, and threw herself backwards onto the bed. With nothing better to do, her stomach still growling, she rolled over and fell asleep.


	3. Chapter 3

_Three_

When Brooke next awoke, the light had changed, but she wasn't sure by how much. She opened her eyes and stared at the wall, hearing the middle of some conversation, which must have been what woke her up.

"Don't be too hard on yourself," she heard Castiel say. "You couldn't have stopped it."

Brooke lay still, maintaining her deep breathing, pretending she was still asleep. Whatever was going on that Castiel claimed was not important for her to know… She would figure it out. She heard the sound of someone getting up from the other bed. Dean Winchester.

"What?" Dean said, his voice quiet with confusion.

"Destiny can't be changed, Dean," Castiel said, his voice calm as ever. "All roads lead to the same destination."

"Then why'd you send me back?"

"For the truth. Now you know everything _we_ do."

_We_.

_The angels_ , Brooke thought.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Dean demanded, sounding frustrated, angry, confused.

Brooke forced her breathing to remain even, though she wanted to hold it in her chest in anticipation.

"Whoa!" Dean yelled.

Brooke jumped.

"Who the hell is _that_?"

She sighed, sitting up, and turned to face Dean and Castiel. "Uhh, hi," she said to Dean, lamely.

"Wha…" He stared at her for a second, then spun to face Castiel. "Who is this? And where's Sam?"

Castiel, as ever, remained calm, cool, and collected. "We know what Azazel did to your brother. What we don't know is _why_ —what his endgame is. He went to great lengths to cover that up."

Dean straightened his shoulders. "Where's Sam?" he asked again, his tone threatening.

"425 Waterman."

Dean glared at Castiel for a moment, and then snatched his bag up off the bed and began to pack.

Brooke sat still on her bed—the bed that Sam had previously been using, she guessed. She felt small, and was a little annoyed that she was being ignored, but she was aware that there was something much bigger than her going on here. She remained silent, waiting.

"Your brother is headed down a dangerous road, Dean, and we're not sure where it leads," Castiel said, though he didn't look at the man. He was staring at her, instead, and though he spoke to Dean, she could feel those needle pricks of scrutiny poking at her mind.

She stared back at him, somewhat afraid, for she knew what he really was. But in his current form, even backlit with holy light as he was, he looked so normal that she forced herself to look into his eyes. _What are you hiding from me?_ she asked in her mind, narrowing her eyes. She felt his indignation for a moment, a flare-up of anger as had happened earlier. She took a deep breath as it overwhelmed her senses, filled her up, made her sit taller—but she kept her eyes on his.

"You have to stop it," Castiel continued, breaking eye contact with her to look at Dean. "Or _we_ will."

Dean stopped packing, one hand hovering over his bag, as he turned to glare over his shoulder at the angel with a look of fear and anger in his eyes. He stood and stared at Castiel, a muscle in his jaw working. He looked like he wanted to say something, but no words came out. He moved and stood directly in front of the angel, eye to eye. Castiel stood like a stone, rooted to the ground, gazing back at Dean with a look of utter indifference.

Brooke breathed faster, afraid that Dean was about to throw a punch or something. And despite the barrier between them, she could feel that righteousness rolling off of Castiel like fog over water. Even when it wasn't aimed at her, it still made her heart pound. A very tense moment ensued, and though it only lasted a few seconds, it felt much longer, the air charged with electricity.

Dean stepped away, grabbed his bag and began to head for the door.

"Wait," said Castiel, his eyes landing on Brooke.

Dean stopped, head down, looking like he wanted nothing more than to ignore that order. He spun around after a second. " _What_?"

"Do you know of anywhere safe that I could leave her?" the angel asked, still eyeing Brooke.

She stared back at him, realizing with a small burst of amusement that their entire short-lived relationship so far had been seemingly nothing but staring awkwardly at each other. She tore her eyes from his to glance at Dean. He was looking at her like she was some freak at the circus.

"Okay, who are you?" he demanded, exasperated.

"Brooke," she said. "I am—I _was_ —a Hunter. Which… I assume you are."

Dean took a deep breath and looked up at the ceiling like he wanted flip God the bird. "What is she doing here, Castiel?"

"I rescued her from a group of demons last night. I need somewhere safe to put her."

"Stop talking about me like I'm not here!" Brooke snapped. "I can take care of myself."

Castiel's eyes flared, and Brooke gasped as she felt anger stab at her. "You were _possessed_ last night and made to walk into a warehouse in the middle of nowhere, tied to a chair, and cut with a knife. If I hadn't shown up, you would have died, and that would have been a mercy after they were done with you." He took two or three steps toward her.

Brooke could feel the barrier crumbling. Castiel seemed to glow brighter and brighter as he came nearer to her. She was beginning to remember his beauty, and the sheer vastness of him. She was beginning to question ever talking back to him. She felt the tears at the corners of her eyes. Her hand reached up of its own accord to touch his face. If she could only touch him again, she knew she would be safe, safe even from his wrath.

Castiel stepped back, away from her, and the barrier between them sealed itself. Suddenly he was a man, once again, his glow diminished to something pathetic. Brooke stared at him, then at her hand, still hovering in the air. She lowered it, fingers trembling, and closed her eyes, praying her tears would dry before they fell.

When she opened her eyes again, she suddenly remembered Dean, whom she had forgotten entirely in the last few seconds. She glanced at him, her face flushing in embarrassment, for there was no real way to ever explain what she felt around Castiel to someone who couldn't _see_ him.

Dean stared at her, his mouth slightly open, looking at her as if he were a little afraid of her. Like she was crazy. "What's wrong with her?" he asked Castiel, though his eyes remained trained on her, as if afraid she would attack him if he looked away.

"She can see my true form, though it overwhelms her," Castiel said, all traces of anger in him gone. He was once again cold, distant, statue-like.

"She can _see you_ , without going _blind_?" Dean asked, incredulous.

"Yes. I… we're not sure why."

Dean stared between Brooke and Castiel for a few seconds, clearly wanting to ask a million more questions, but he cut himself off before even beginning and turned for the door again. "I don't have time for this," he said. "I have to go find Sam."

" _Dean_ ," Castiel said, his voice strong, and commanding. "Do you know anywhere I could take her or not?"

"Take her to Bobby's if you have to. Whatever. You can _whoosh_ over there, right? Just tell him I sent you." With a wave of his hand, he walked out the door.

Brooke watched the door close, then turned to face Castiel. They stood silently for a while, and she spent most of that time trying to pull herself together. Now that they were alone in the room, even though she couldn't see his true form, his presence was almost too much for her. But that, she mused, probably had something to do with how hungry she was, and how strange all of this was.

When he didn't speak for a time, she asked in a small voice, "What now?"

"I'm going to take you to Bobby's," he replied. "But I have to touch you to take you there."

"Who's Bobby?" Her voice trembled. She cleared her throat.

"A friend of Sam and Dean's."

"Right." As if that explained anything.

Castiel slowly approached her, and Brooke couldn't help the sharp intake of breath as he reached out a hand to place it on her shoulder.

"I'll try to keep the barrier up, but it may not protect you entirely," he said. There was something almost like concern in his voice, though it was distant. "Prepare yourself."

Brooke squeezed her eyes shut and nodded. A moment later, she felt his hand on her shoulder. He had been right; the barrier didn't protect her entirely, but it did help. She heard his multitude of voices, but they seemed muted and muffled. She still could not understand what he was thinking, but she seemed better able to shuffle through all the voices without feeling quite so much like she was falling from a great height. And there, like always, was a sense of the infinite, and of beauty and terror mixed equally. She felt a sense of utter peace overcome her, despite the terror, and smiled.

He removed his hand from her shoulder and she opened her eyes to see that they were on the front porch of a rundown house. She took a few breaths to try and recover from the strange experience of his mind, and looked around. "Bobby's?" she asked, though she already knew the answer.

He nodded silently.

Brooke turned and knocked apprehensively on the door. There was a tense wait of about thirty seconds, before a gruff-looking middle-aged man with the beginnings of a beer gut opened the door. He looked down at her silently, then his eyes flicked up to Castiel, who stood, hovering, over her shoulder. Bobby looked between the two of them for a few seconds, then said, "What do you want?"

Brooke opened her mouth to speak, but Castiel interrupted her. "Dean said I could drop Brooke off with you."

Bobby's gaze flicked down to Brooke again, then back up at Castiel. He folded his arms and leaned against the doorframe. "Did he, now? And why would a pretty girl like you want to stay with an old fart like me?" The question was aimed at Brooke, but Bobby continued to switch his gazes between her and Castiel.

"She's… important, somehow," Castiel began slowly. "She can see me. My true form. And she can see demons' true forms. She was possessed and kidnapped by a group of demons last night, and I heard her prayer for deliverance. I rescued her. But she needs somewhere safe to stay until we figure out what to do with her."

Brooke spun around on her heel and stared up at Castiel. "For the second time, stop talking about me like I'm not here. I am not a child; I am twenty-five years old. I had never seen a demon before in my life, so I was a little unprepared for a bunch of a black smoke to go shoving its way down my throat. I promise, next time, I'll be ready. I don't need protecting. I've been hunting since I was old enough to walk." This was an exaggeration, but it was almost true. She'd been hunting with her mother for most of her life.

Castiel looked down at her and she felt that righteous anger swell within him and penetrate her mind. She glared at him. "Don't you get angry at me," she snapped. "I am grateful to you for rescuing me. I _am_. But I have a life and I'd like to get back to it."

Castiel remained quiet for a moment, then he leaned down so that his face was inches from hers. "Until I know your role in all this, I will track you like a hound," he said, his voice deadly. "You will remain here, and I will check in now and again."

He was so close to her that she could feel his breath on her face. She was somewhere between wanting to slap him and kiss him. A strange mix of feelings. She knew she was being treated like a child, and she hated it, yet she couldn't help but remember the night before, when he'd been in his full glory, and she'd been able to really see him. He could have told her anything, then, and she would have accepted it without question. It was only the barrier between them that gave her the strength to be angry with him at all.

"All right, now," Bobby said, and his voice seemed to break the spell between herself and the angel. "All right," Bobby said again. "Let's not do anything we're gonna regret later. She can stay with me."

Brooke took a deep breath and moved away from Castiel, folding her arms across her chest as if it would protect her from him.

Castiel stared at her, as he did so often, his blue eyes intense with that sense of righteousness. He glanced up at Bobby for a moment, then he turned on his heel and—disappeared.

The air rushed past her face and then settled, and everything was still. She took a shaky breath.

Behind her, Bobby said, "Well… come in, I guess. What's your name, anyway?"

Brooke pulled herself together as best she could and followed Bobby inside.


	4. Chapter 4

_Four_

Brooke had been sleeping on Bobby's couch for nearly two weeks. Her relationship, such as it was, with him, was strained, but they tolerated one another. The first thing he'd done when she'd stepped through his doorway was douse her with holy water. She'd stared at him in shock, dripping water onto his floor, and then said, "You don't think the _angel_ would have known if I were _possessed_?"

His only response had been: "Can't be too careful."

He'd then made her go through a series of other trials to rule out anything else monstrous, like cutting herself with a silver blade. The cut had been shallow, barely enough to draw blood, but it had been long, and there was still a small scab on her arm. After he'd determined that she was simply a human with some strange power to see angels and demons, he'd mostly left her alone.

She cooked for herself with whatever food was in his pantry: not much. After a day or two of wearing the same clothes, she'd found some clean, feminine clothing sitting on the couch one night. She took them and changed into them, which gave her a chance to wash her other clothes. She never said thank you, and he never mentioned it.

Sometimes, the phone rang and Bobby would answer it and talk about the lore behind some monster or other, or pretend to be some overhead at the FBI.

After three or four days of complete boredom, and with no visits from Castiel, she'd started to get back into the exercise routine she'd had when she was still a Hunter. Multiple reps of push-ups, sit-ups, crunches, squats, a two-mile run around his property. There was more. Eventually, she got up the courage to go bother him by the fire one night.

He was reading a book whose title she couldn't read from where she stood. "Hey, uh…" She stopped. He was a middle-aged balding man, but he intimidated the hell out of her, probably half of which was because she didn't know him at all, and he was still pissed that she'd been randomly dropped at his door two weeks ago.

"Hay is for horses," he said, not looking up from his book.

She almost laughed, and hearing him say it had broken some of the tension. "I was wondering if I could have some weapons to practice with," she began. "A knife, a gun…"

He looked up from his book and squinted at her. "I don't know you and you want me to give you some weapons?"

She gained a little more courage and raised an eyebrow at him. "You have weapons all over the house, most of which I know the locations of, and none of which I've touched. Now I'm _asking_ , and that makes you distrust me?"

He continued to squint at her, and then snapped his book shut and set it on the table beside him. "You're right," he said, and grunted as he stood up from his chair beside the fire. "I don't know you, personally, but I know you used to be a Hunter and that puts you right enough in my books." He wandered through the house, occasionally picking things up, and she trailed behind him. "Besides, if demons really are after you, you should get some practice in. How long'd you say you'd stopped hunting?"

"Five years," she said, and a flash of her mother's face entered her mind. Her mother was, as far as she was aware, still alive. But they hadn't spoken in years. Not since Brooke had left the life, something her mother had never truly forgiven her for.

Bobby shook his head as he turned to face her in the dark house. Most of the lights were off. "Girl, you better get to practicin'," he warned. "And here." The first thing he handed her was a small coin-like object on a length of cord. "This is a charm. It prevents you from becoming possessed. I shoulda given it to you the first day, but I didn't think of it."

"Thank you," Brooke murmured, and slipped the charm over her head. She tucked it into her shirt. She took a breath, and looked up at Bobby. "Listen, I… I'm sorry that I'm here. I know it's weird for you. It's weird for me, too. I'd rather not be here, but…"

"Well, gee, thanks," Bobby replied, sarcastically.

She snorted and rolled her eyes. "You know what I mean. Look, one minute I'm being tortured by a bunch of demons, the next I'm being rescued by an angel and then lugged around from a motel room to some random Hunter's house. I didn't ask for any of this. I would leave if I thought I could get away with it, but…" She looked out one of the windows, thinking. "He'd find me, somehow. Castiel. And he'd be pissed that I left. He's friends—or something—with the Winchesters, which makes him a good guy, right?"

"Riiiiight," Bobby agreed, though he dragged the word out, as if he weren't really sure.

"Right. So until he shows up, I'm…" She shook her head and shrugged.

Bobby nodded, looked at her for a moment, then handed her a knife in one hand and a gun in the other. "The gun's loaded, so be careful," he warned.

"Yeah," she said, "and I assume the knife is real and not made of plastic? Come on, I know I haven't hunted in five years, but I'm not an idiot."

"Sure," said Bobby, gruffly. "Why don't you prove that to me tomorrow and show me whatcha got."

She grinned. "Oh, you're on."

###

She got her ass handed to her all the next day. The movements were slowly coming back to her, but it _had_ been five years. She was still relatively in shape—even without her Hunter routine, she'd gone to the gym almost every day—but the muscle memory of defensive and offensive moves with knives and fists had disappeared. Somehow, she was still a pretty good shot with a gun, which delighted her, though she tried to keep a straight face. Bobby grunted with grudging satisfaction every time she hit the targets dead-on.

Over the course of the next few days, she trained with and without Bobby, going through the moves she had learned as a child, put to use as a teenager, and stopped using at twenty. She knew it would take a while for everything to come back to her, but it felt good to sleep so hard at night; the exhaustion of training kept the nightmares away. Sometimes, she tried to ask Bobby what was going on, if he knew why Castiel was here, and what the important things were that the angel didn't want her to know. Bobby told her few things, none of which really answered her questions, but otherwise avoided answering. She went to bed at night, pleasantly tired and sore, but with her mind reeling.

###

She woke suddenly one night, feeling that something was wrong. She pulled the knife out from under her pillow on the couch, one hand on the sheath in case she needed to unsheathe it to stab someone—or something. Even in her own bed at home in her shitty apartment, she'd kept a knife under her pillow, and a gun in her bedside drawer.

"That's not necessary," Castiel said, his voice quiet, but commanding as always.

Brooke nearly jumped out of her skin and spun to find him standing behind the couch, staring down at her. "Jesus Christ!" she said at a fierce whisper. She saw his head tilt in the dark. "It's an expression," she explained, rolling her eyes and putting the knife down. "Do me a favor. Don't watch me like a creep while I'm sleeping. It's not appropriate."

Castiel said nothing.

Brooke crossed her arms and stood looking at him in the dark. As before, he seemed backlit, and the edges of him glimmered. Now, too, she could see the outline of his wings, so massive that they stretched beyond the walls of the living room. But they were faint, even in the dark. "What are you doing here?" she demanded, when he continued, only, to stand and stare at her.

"I came to check in on you, make sure you were safe."

"I'm flattered." Her voice dripped with sarcasm.

He ignored her tone, and she could feel those knives of curiosity prick her mind. "Something is different about you," he mused. "You seem… stronger."

"I've been training. Hand-to-hand, knives, guns. Running, push-ups. Figured if I was gonna be a target for demons, I wouldn't make it so easy for them next time." She pulled the cord out from under her shirt and dangled the charm. "Bobby gave me this. It prevents demons from possessing me."

Castiel came around the couch and held the charm in his fingers to study it. Brooke made sure to snatch her fingers away from his before they touched. It was the middle of the night and she'd been ripped from sleep; she wasn't sure she could deal with an accidental mind-meld right then.

"Good," he said, after looking at the charm for a few seconds. He released it and she felt the small metal disk bump her chest. They remained too close, and Brooke wondered if Castiel always stood so close to people. Maybe angels didn't have an understanding of personal space. Or maybe he was trying to intimidate her. She stood her ground.

"Have any demons tried to come here?" he asked.

"Not that I'm aware of," she said, her voice still low so as not to wake Bobby. Hunters tended to be light sleepers.

"Good," he said again. He turned away from her, and she knew that he was about to _whoosh_ away.

"Stop," she said quickly, reaching out a hand to grab his arm as if he were a human. Her fingers hovered inches from him. He stood still, his back to her.

"Castiel, you need to tell me what is happening. Last time, you talked about things I didn't need to know, but you know it's not fair, what you're doing. You've disrupted my life, abandoned me here for the last two weeks, haven't explained anything." She sighed, exasperated. "All I know is, angels haven't been on Earth in thousands of years, according to Bobby. He won't tell me anything else, though. So either you let me go, let me live my old life, or you tell me why you're keeping me here and what is so important that entire garrisons of angels have descended from Heaven to come here."

Castiel didn't speak or move for a long time. Brooke barely breathed, afraid that if she disrupted his train of thoughts that he would simply vanish. After what seemed like forever, he turned to face her again. "The Apocalypse is coming," he said.

She stared blankly at him, almost wanting to laugh, but his voice had been so serious that she didn't dare. "What?"

"Sam and Dean Winchester are the only ones who can stop it," he continued, as if he hadn't heard her. "I've been busy fighting demons at every turn, or I would have come to check on you sooner." He sounded almost sorry, but, like always, whatever emotion was in his voice was cold and distant.

Brooke slowly sat down on the couch. "So… So where do I fit into all this?"

Castiel hesitated, then sat beside her, but didn't look at her. "We—the other angels and I—don't think you do, at this point," he said. "I think it was simply coincidence that I found you when I did. I think you were attacked by that group of demons on a whim. Many hundreds, perhaps thousands or even more, demons were released from Hell not too long ago. I think they attacked you simply because you were there."

Brooke leaned back on the couch, staring at the ceiling. "So all of that… it meant nothing." The realization that the last two weeks of her life had meant _nothing_ astounded her. That it was some kind of accident, coincidence, that he had come bursting through those warehouse doors…

"All of what?" Castiel asked, looking at her in the dark.

She turned and stared at him, speechless. "All of _what_?" she repeated. "Did that mean _nothing_ to you?" She shook her head, trying to find a way to explain, and finally gave up. "Here," she snapped, and smacked her hand down hard on top of one of his. She had no idea if this would work, but she was too shaken up to take the time to express in words what it had meant.

She felt the barrier break, and closed her eyes against the sudden nearly-blinding light that assaulted her eyes. She felt Castiel start to pull his hand away, so she gripped it hard, digging her nails into the skin. She felt anger flare up in her body, his anger, but pushed past it. "Take it," she said, gritting her teeth as she tried to keep ahold of her sense of self. "The memory." She fought hard against the feeling that she was a speck of dust in a vast universe, fought to keep her mind her own.

She forced away everything else, and focused on her memory of the night he had rescued her, the way his being had blasted its way through the warehouse, the way his light had shone down on her and she had felt blessed and safe. And terrified. Every emotion she had felt that night, and every emotion since. The anger at the disruption of her life, the confusion, the anxiety of waiting for some kind of news, wanting to find out why she'd been stuck at Bobby's house for weeks. But mostly, she showed him, through her own eyes, what he'd been like that night. This creature made of energy and light who had saved her life and taken her breath away.

Eventually, when she thought he'd gotten the message, she pulled her hand away, and the world went quiet again. The roaring in her ears stopped, though she could still see his light against her eyelids. Slowly, she opened her eyes, and saw that Bobby's living room was full of light, and the being sitting beside her was so full of energy that it invigorated and exhausted her. She tried to look at him, but everything was blurry. She realized she was crying, just as she had the night he had rescued her. But she could feel him staring at her.

She took multiple deep breaths, fighting sobs, and said in a cracked voice, "You're telling me that all happened for _nothing_?" She made herself look at the human part of him, into those blue eyes, which were lit up now by his own light. "That I can see… all of _this_ , for nothing? That you saved my life for no reason? I refuse to believe that." She knew that she was starting to lose her grip, now, but she kept going. "You must have saved me for a reason, and I must be able to see you for a reason. If the Apocalypse is coming, then I want to help."

Castiel opened his mouth to speak, to retaliate.

"No!" she yelled, forgetting about Bobby upstairs and how late at night it was. "I don't care that demons are after me, that I can see them. Maybe I'm just going crazy because I'm in the presence of a _literal angel_ , but… there has to be a reason that I can see you without going blind. You came down to help Sam and Dean Winchester, and you rescued me at the same time. Then you thrust me into all this, dropped me off at some Hunter's house, and left me here. I don't care if you're an angel. You're terrifying but I'm not afraid of you. Not that way. I won't let you dictate my life."

Castiel stared at her, and she could feel a hundred different emotions flowing through him. There was that righteous indignation again, but it was tempered by curiosity, bewilderment.

"I gave up Hunting to have a life, but if the world ends, I won't have any kind of life, right?" she continued, blabbering now, high on a mix of her own emotions mixing with his. "I'll help how I can. I'll… I'll fight whoever needs fighting. I'm tired of sitting here." She looked desperately into his face. "You're a soldier, right? Surely, you can understand the feeling of sitting around going crazy, wanting to _do_ something if you thought it would help."

"I follow orders," Castiel snapped.

It felt as if a whip had slashed across her brain. She sucked in air through her teeth, fighting the sudden feeling of surrender that overwhelmed her. Fighting _him_.

"I don't take orders from you," she growled. "I'll go out on my own if you won't let me help you. I'll find my own way to help." Her mother would be proud of her in this moment, she thought. Fighting some man who was talking down to her.

His eyes closed, and the choking feeling around her body and mind dissipated. He had given up. "You remind me of Dean," he muttered.

She knew nothing about Dean, but grinned fiercely. "I'll take that as a compliment."

Castiel sighed and stood up. "I have nothing for you to do now. Go back to sleep. I'll come for you when I can."

Brooke stood up, too, but too quickly. She felt faint as the blood rushed to her head, but shook it off. "You _will_ come back," she said. "Don't just tell me you will and then leave me here."

Castiel placed a hand on her shoulder in an almost-friendly manner. Brooke closed her eyes against the rush of thoughts in his mind and fought through them. Somewhere in the center of it all, she heard one, clear thought: _I will come back for you_.

She opened her eyes again and stared at him. He stared back at her for a moment, his eyes serious and searching, then he was gone.


	5. Chapter 5

_Five_

Uninterrupted days of training followed her visit with Castiel. She slowly got better at remembering the right moves for the right situations, though hand-to-hand combat did seem to be her weakness. She spent hours out in the scrap yard around Bobby's house, going through the motions on her own. She'd wander inside at around sunset, tired, sweaty, and covered in a layer of grime. But she was happier than she'd been those first two weeks. She and Bobby even spoke for more than a minute at a time, sometimes.

On her rest days, she'd spend time in his library, pouring over old tomes and refreshing her memory on lore of all sorts. Her brain and body were exhausted, but she couldn't let up. She was waiting for Castiel to come back, to tell her she was needed somewhere. He never showed, but somehow she knew he hadn't been lying last time they had spoken. He would come for her if he thought she was needed. In the meantime, she knew she needed to stay sharp. She forced herself to eat and sleep, to shower, to rest her eyes after hours of reading. The Apocalypse was coming.

The thought kept her up at night, so she threw herself into training all the harder during the day. In reality, she wasn't coping well with what Castiel had told her, and she knew it. But, in her view, she only had two options: succumb to fear, or combat it with everything she had. She chose the latter, and worked herself to the bone in the meantime. Something would give, eventually, but for now, she needed this to keep her sane. Bobby gave her concerned looks sometimes, but she'd only smile and look away. At night, she'd pray to God to keep her safe, keep her mother safe, keep Sam and Dean Winchester safe. She didn't know the boys, but if Castiel said they were all that could stop the Apocalypse, then she'd pray for their safety just as hard as she prayed for her own. And she prayed for Bobby's safety, too, for he had taken her in when he could have kicked her out, and she was grateful to him. They weren't friends, exactly, but it was easier being around him now than it had been first.

She spoke to Castiel at night, too, directly. She had no idea if he could hear her or not, but she figured if he had heard her prayer for deliverance the night he'd saved her, then… maybe he'd hear her now. She gave him progress reports, mostly, on how her re-training was coming along. Sometimes, though, she simply reached out to him without words. She wasn't friends with him, either. She knew this. They didn't really know each other, but there was an undeniable connection between them whether they wanted such a connection or not. So, sometimes, if she was having a particularly hard time falling asleep, she'd simply think of him, and speak to him as if she did know him. She'd talk about her childhood—or her lack of one. Or she'd tell him something funny she'd thought of that day. She was torn, those nights, between wanting him to hear her and hoping that he didn't. Praying to him this way was like a child confiding in an imaginary friend… except that he was anything but imaginary. All she knew was that he had the capacity to scare the shit out of her, but also to make her feel safe and protected. In a world that, apparently, was about to end, the thought of knowing an angel, even one as surly as Castiel, was comforting.

###

"Brooke!" Bobby's voice could be heard shouting from the front porch.

Brooke stopped in her movements, the knife in her hand stilling. She sheathed it and jogged back towards the house. "Yeah?" she called, rounding the corner.

"Sam called. We gotta go. Dean's in trouble." Bobby was coming down the steps, car keys in hand.

"Right," Brooke said, following him to the car.

And they were off. Brooke kept an eye on Bobby out of the corner of her eye. He was visibly worried, and that made her worried. If something happened to Dean… would that mean the Apocalypse would actually happen? She pursed her lips, sending a quick thought up to Castiel, wherever he was, and spent the rest of the drive staring out the window.

When they arrived at some random motel, Brooke got out of the car with Bobby, but felt the urge to hold back. She had briefly met Dean—very briefly—but she'd never even seen Sam, and she didn't know if Dean had mentioned her. She hovered by the car, letting Bobby and Sam talk about whatever was going on with Dean. By the sounds of it, he was… scared to death, literally. Something had infected him, and now everything scared him, enough to cause a heart attack.

Worriedly, Brooke glanced at the motel, as if hoping to be able to see Dean through the walls. She stood up straight, having been leaning against the car and walked over to where Bobby and Sam were.

"So we have to scare a ghost to death," Sam was saying. "How the hell we gonna do that?" He glanced at Bobby, and saw Brooke standing beside him. "Who—

Brooke looked at him shyly.

"You're Brooke, aren't you?" Sam asked. "Dean told me about you. You're still living at Bobby's? That happened, like, a month ago."

"Yep," Brooke said, feeling awkward. Wanting to stop talking about herself, she asked quickly, "So, we got a plan, or what?"

###

"This is a _terrible_ plan," Bobby said, later, as they attached chains to the rear end of the Impala.

Brooke had to agree, but she got in the passenger side of the car, anyways. They'd agreed that her staying with Bobby was probably for the best, which was fine with her. Her only part of this plan was waiting. Bobby asked Sam over walkie-talkie if he was good one time. After that, they heard nothing for a few minutes. The minutes felt like hours, but Brooke just kept telling herself to be patient.

"BOBBY, PUNCH IT!"

Sam's voice, loud and crackling, scared the shit out of Brooke.

"Hold on, kid!" Bobby yelled, and slammed his foot down on the accelerator.

Brooke braced herself on the seat and shouted like she was on a rollercoaster as the car jetted forward, "Woooooooo!" It was either that, or grit her teeth and pray that Bobby put the breaks down easy. There were no seatbelts in this car and she was afraid she'd go through the windshield…

###

"So you guys road-hauled a ghost… with a _chain_." Dean passed beers to Sam and Bobby, and then held one up questioningly at Brooke, who shook her head no. The tossed the extra beer back into the trunk with a scoff, as if he couldn't believe there was anyone over twenty-one who _chose_ not to drink.

"An _iron_ chain," Sam corrected, "etched with a spell word." He tipped his beer in Bobby's direction. Bobby had supplied the spell word.

"Hmm," said Dean. "That's a new one." He took a swig of beer.

Brooke stood and grinned like an idiot while the boys proceeded to make fun of each other. She'd never had brothers growing up, so witnessing two siblings poke fun at each other was new for her.

"We gotta get goin'," Bobby said, far too soon for Brooke's liking.

"Hey, wait a minute," Dean interrupted, looking at Brooke. He eyed her for a few seconds, and she didn't like the expression on his face. "What do you know about Cass?" he asked, one eyebrow raised.

"Cass…" she repeated, knowing who he meant, but finding the nickname odd. "Probably about as much as you do. He's an angel. He's a soldier. He thinks you and your brother are gonna stop the Apocalypse." She shrugged, folding her arms over her chest.

"And what's your part in all of it?"

This time she raised her eyebrow at _him_. "We're not sure," she said, truthfully. She looked out at the expanse of road, thinking. "I can see Castiel's true form, and I can see demons' true forms, also. I'm gonna assume I can see other angels, were any others to appear in front of me. No one knows why, including any angel Castiel— _Cass_ —has spoken to. I was gonna go home after he dumped me at Bobby's, but after he told me about the Apocalypse… I'm not goin' anywhere. I was a Hunter most of my life; I might be useful. Castiel says he'll come back for me when he needs me."

Dean chuckled, but it was a mirthless sound. Hollow. "When he _needs_ you. Right."

Brooke studied Dean for a few seconds, holding her ground. "I don't plan on getting in your way. You're the Winchesters." She glanced at Sam, bringing him into the conversation. "Your reputations precede you. But if I can help, I will. I know you don't know me, and Castiel sort of shoved me into your lives unceremoniously, but it would be easier if we were friends. Or at least _friendly_."

Dean looked like he wanted to come back with some petty retort.

"That would be nice," Sam interjected, very loudly, and gave his brother A Look.

Brooke smiled at him, a genuine smile. She glanced at Dean uncertainly, but without malice, then turned and got into Bobby's car.

So it hadn't gone exactly as she'd hoped—if she'd hoped anything at all—but she had to assume things would get better with time.

As Bobby pulled onto the road, she sent a quick prayer up to Castiel: _Dean's fine_. Castiel had never responded to any of her prayers (other than the time he saved her life) but she swore she almost felt some kind of response. Some small flicker of affirmation, or a thank-you for having told him. She tried to hold onto the feeling, but it slipped from her mind like a dream you forget you had the minute you wake up. She put it out of her head, chalking it up to an overactive imagination.


	6. Chapter 6

_Six_

Sweat dripped down Brooke's face as she went for her daily run. She was halfway through with it and had gotten to the point where the endorphins were kicking in. Her legs burned, but in a good way. She'd increased the time she spent running since starting with two miles, for lack of anything better to do. At least if she was running, it meant she was outside—although Bobby's scrapyard wasn't exactly a nice place to go running. She kept her breathing as steady as she could, in and out, slowly. She turned a corner—

Castiel stood in front of her. She ground to a halt with a wordless yell. The barrier was up, so he was mostly just human-looking. Still, she hadn't expected a random person to be standing around the corner. She leaned over and put her hands on her knees. "Cass, you really need to announce yourself better."

" _Don't_ call me that," he growled.

Surprised at his tone, she stood up straight and squinted at him. "Oookay," she said, slowly.

He looked away from her. "Sorry," he said. "It's… Dean calls me that, and I—

"And you let him, don't you?" she finished, smirking. "You should tell him you don't like it."

Castiel sighed, and in that moment, Brooke couldn't help but notice just _how_ human he looked. "What—what are you doing here, anyways?" she asked, walking up to him. "You said you'd come back for me, and now you're here." A thrill of fear went through her. "The Apocalypse didn't start _already_ , did it?"

"No," he replied, and she felt a trickle of emotion from him through the barrier, a feeling that he was trying to reassure her. He must have felt her fear. "No, I came to see how your training is going." He glanced at her, but wouldn't meet her eyes.

She studied him, much in the same way that he often studied her. She just couldn't get the dagger-eyes down right. She nudged at the mental barrier, trying to figure out what was really going on. She knew there was something he wasn't telling her. He seemed out of sorts. Even his usual backlit glow wasn't as bright, though nothing seemed physically wrong with him. He just seemed… down. And until that point, she hadn't realized it was possible for angels to _feel_ down.

He stiffened when he felt her probing gently at the mental barrier. "Don't," he warned, but his usual whip-like tone was gentler, and she didn't feel the effects quite as strongly in her mind.

She stopped immediately, but placed her hands on her hips and continued staring at him. "Okay, what's up with you?" she demanded. "Normally, even being near you is like being too close to the sun, but you seem… bothered. Most days I wouldn't even have the courage to ask, which means something is _clearly_ up, because you're not giving me _Angel of the Lord_ vibes."

He said nothing, but glanced at her again, and in his eyes was some unreadable expression. Still, whatever it was, it was negative.

She rolled her eyes and sighed. "Okay, come on." She began to jog, moving past him.

"What?"

She smiled, amused that he was the confused one for once. "Come _on_ , angel. Take a jog with me."

He began to trail after her. "I'm an angel. I don't need to jog."

She turned around and jogged backwards, grinning at him. "Something's up with you. Exercise might help, even if it doesn't do anything for you physically. Come on, show me how fast an _angel_ can run." She had no idea if he had super-speed or not, but it was amuse the hell out of her if he did.

He disappeared, and she felt the wind rush around her. He'd just teleported off somewhere.

Before she even had time to react, she ran into something solid behind her. The barrier in her mind shattered, and she caught a glimpse of his mind.

_Doubt_.

That was the feeling that was throwing him off. It was doubt.

The barrier reasserted itself so fast that she almost blacked out, thrown forcefully from his mind. She blinked hard, trying to regain her balance, and sucked in a breath, spinning away from him.

He reached out a hand, as if to steady her, but lowered it again almost at once. "I'm—sorry," he said. "I should have teleported farther from you, to give you more time to… adjust."

Brooke was sorely tempted to ask why he was feeling so doubtful, but she looked into his face and saw how genuinely sorry he was that he'd caused her to run into him and then shoved her out of his head… This was a side she had never seen of him. He seemed so much like her, so human, so… fragile. She was afraid if she pushed, that he would break. Or, maybe, he'd simply harden himself against her, or the world, and never show this strange vulnerability again. She stood and looked at him and breathed, for a time, searching his eyes. He didn't hold her gaze.

Finally, she flashed him a grin. He looked so shocked at her sudden change of expression that she laughed. "Were you trying to be funny, Castiel?" she asked. "Teleporting behind me like that?" She sucked a breath deep into her belly and stood up straight. Imitating his deep, gruff voice as well as she could, she said, " _I told you I don't need to run._ "

He stared at her as if she'd gone crazy. "Are you making fun of me?" he demanded, and a little of that whip-like quality was back in his voice.

"Yes, sir!" she said, loudly and with a grin, trying her best to ignore that lash across her mind. It had been very light. He wasn't truly angry.

He gazed at her sternly for a moment, and was truly backlit for the first time since he'd arrived. A vague outline of his wings appeared on either side of his body, though his true form was still hidden behind the barrier.

She walked up to him slowly, glancing from his face to the outline of his body, to his wings. " _There_ you are," she said, gently.

He looked down at her, inches from her face, and she realized how close she had gotten to him. She felt his breath on her face. His eyes were very blue, and very beautiful. He turned away from her very slowly, keeping his eyes on her face until it was physically impossible to do so. When his back was to her, he began to walk away. She followed him, as if he had her on an invisible leash. What was he doing? He clearly wasn't leaving or he would have simply teleported away.

He started to jog.

She stared at him, realization dawning in her face. "Yes!" She jogged after him and caught up to him in a moment. His legs were longer than hers, so she had to keep a faster pace, but she stayed at his shoulder. They jogged silently for a time. She tried to concentrate on the feeling in her body, the movement, but she found her eyes wandering to his face over and over.

He moved faster. She matched his pace.

He moved even faster.

"Are we racing?" she demanded.

"You won't win," he said, his voice steady. He didn't look at her.

"Try me," she said, and then sucked in a breath and began to sprint as hard as she could. She knew, logically, that she wouldn't win. But she'd been dying to see how fast he could really go, and he seemed to be in a giving mood today.

He caught up with her in a millisecond and kept pace without even breaking a sweat. She glared at him, though she wasn't really angry. Just as she felt her lungs would burst, he turned his head to look at her fully—and smiled. She had never seen him smile. It lit up his whole face like the sun coming out, finally, on a cloudy day. She thought her heart would stop. She felt the smile inside her. She stared at him. He faced the road again—

A sound like a miniature explosion went off. Wind gusted around her so hard she was almost knocked to the ground. She fell on her knees just to be more stable, wrapping her arms around her head. Terrified, she squinted ahead of her, down the dirt road, trying to figure out what had just happened. After a second or two, the wind died down as if nothing had happened. She blinked the grit out of her eyes, breathing hard. Castiel was gone. She stared, wide-eyed, around herself. Had he just… teleported?

_Look closer_. His voice echoed in her mind.

She gasped at the sound of it, but quickly found her center again and squinted down the road again. Standing there, far, far down the road, was a pinprick—a dot—of a man. Her jaw dropped. He had just run down the road. All the way down. "Holy shit," she breathed.

A much smaller gust of wind than the one she had just experienced rushed into her face, and he was standing in front of her again. She saw his wings, shimmering in and out of view, fold themselves over his back. She stared up into his face, speechless.

"I can go much faster than that," he said. "But doing so would have broken the sound barrier and caused deafness."

She just kept staring at him.

After a few awkward seconds, he reached a hand down towards her. She hesitated, remembering for the first time that day, how truly powerful he was. She had been teasing a being who could destroy her with the snap of his fingers. She stared at his hand as if it would crush her bones when she placed her own hand inside it.

Slowly, he pulled his hand away, and knelt down so that they were face to face. "I didn't mean to frighten you. You said you wanted to see how fast I could run." His voice was strangely gentle, a sound she wasn't used to hearing from him. She looked into his face and saw that he meant what he said. He was looking at her as if afraid she would break at the slightest touch. She realized how ridiculous she was being.

"I've seen you, your true form, bursting through those doors to save me. I've seen you light up demons like candles. I know you could shove your whole hand through my chest if you wanted to."

He looked shocked by such a remark.

"But," she continued, "I know you won't." She held out her hand to him.

He studied her face, and she expected those needle-pricks in her mind, those daggers to penetrate her. Instead she felt only gentleness, a soft curiosity, like a summer breeze on her face. As if he were learning her limits, how to interact with her mind without harming it.

He stood up after a few seconds and took her hand, pulling her to her feet. She brushed the dirt from her pant-legs and then looked up at him.

"How do you know?" he asked. "How do you know I won't hurt you?"

She looked away from him, staring at the road, the sky, trying to find an answer that made any real sense. Finally, she just asked him, "Well, don't _you_ know it? Can't you feel that certainty inside yourself? I just… know."

He turned away from her.

That was when she realized that his question really had nothing to do with whether he would hurt her. This had something to do with whatever doubt she had felt coming from him earlier. "Look, whatever you're uncertain of right now… Just give it time." She knew it was weak advice, but it was the best she could come up with on the spot.

He looked at her over his shoulder. "I don't have time to doubt the Will of God," he murmured, so softly that she almost didn't hear him.

Before she could think of anything to say in the face of such a statement, he was gone.


	7. Chapter 7

_Seven_

Sam, Dean, and Anna appeared a week after Brooke's conversation with Castiel. Just in time for Bobby to leave on a job in the Dominican. She was on her own in the house less than twenty-four hours, and even that was enough time to freak her out. She'd heard nothing from Castiel since their strange interaction the week before, but she would have killed to have him there with, even standing like a stalker behind the couch, while she tried to sleep. Nightmares plagued her for hours, until, eventually, she gave up sleep altogether and sat by the fire for the rest of the night.

In the morning, when she heard the purr of a car pulling up outside she grabbed the nearest gun and then went to the window and peered through the blinds. It was the Impala. Breathing a sigh of relief, she put the gun down and opened the door. There were Sam and Dean, a redheaded woman that she didn't recognize, and—

Brooke screamed and backed up into the house to grab the gun. She made it back to the front door just as Sam charged forward, blocking her aim with his body. "Sam, move, there's a demon!"

"I _know_!" Sam shouted, holding her wrist above her head. He looked at her, his eyes wide and convincing. "She's a good guy."

Brooke stared up at him. "She _what_?"

"Just—just trust me." Sam slowly let go of her wrist and put his hands up in a surrendering fashion. "Don't shoot her. Her name is Ruby. She's helping us."

Brooke peeked around Sam's body at Ruby, and swallowed the bile rising in her throat at the woman's true face, twisted and tortured. Ruby gave her a half-smile.

Brooke could only remember that night tied to a chair in a warehouse. All those faces staring down at her. Feeling unsteady, she put the gun down and walked into the house, going into the living room and standing beside the cold fireplace.

"Has Cass come here?" Dean asked, somewhere behind her.

"No, not for a week," she replied.

"Good."

Brooke's eyebrows drew together in confusion and she turned to face him. "Good?" she repeated.

"He wants to kill this woman." Dean pointed to the red-haired woman who was standing awkwardly nearby, looking around herself as if she'd never seen a house before. "Anna."

Brooke stared. There was too much information coming at her too quickly. First a demon was on the good guy's team, and now Castiel wanted to kill an innocent woman. Brooke studied Anna, but nothing about the woman jumped out at her.

"Why does Castiel want to kill her?"

"We don't know," Dean said.

Brooke wanted to follow up with something like, _Surely Castiel has a good reason for wanting to kill her_ , but she knew how crazy that would make her sound, so she said nothing. She turned to face the empty fireplace again, shivering less with cold and more with apprehension. Sam, Dean, Anna, and the demon, Ruby, all went down into Bobby's panic room. Brooke stayed where she was, unable to think clearly.

Castiel was good. He would never hurt an innocent woman, so Anna had to have done something wrong. Castiel was an angel of the Lord, following God's Will.

Castiel, a week before, had doubted God's Will. He'd admitted it to her himself. And then he'd teleported away because he'd been too afraid to face his own doubt.

Brooke looked down into the ashes in the fireplace. Castiel might do something stupid, in a state of doubt. But would he really kill an innocent human? She shook her head. Someone was wrong here; she just didn't know who it was. In the meantime, she decided to cut off prayer to Castiel, until she figured out who Anna was, and who was in the right or wrong. The thought that Castiel could be so cruel cut Brooke to the quick, but she knew she had to face that fact. Castiel was a warrior, a soldier, following orders. If God had commanded him to kill Anna, he would kill Anna.

Brooke put her head in her hands and breathed.

###

Since finding out that Anna was an angel, all Brooke could do was stare at her. Like, really stare. Stare the way she stared at Castiel—or the way he stared at her. She was looking for something, some sign, some way to tell that Anna was an angel and not this mundane, albeit pretty, woman who stood before her. The others in the room talked around her, but Brooke only heard endless droning. She stared so hard at Anna that Anna eventually turned to give her a look.

Brooke looked away quickly, turning her back on the woman. She closed her eyes and tried to reach out for Anna the way she could reach out to Castiel. But there was no response; there nothing there to respond to her. Anna must have really been human, because Brooke had tested her in every way she knew how and had come up empty-handed each time. That either meant that Anna was lying—doubtful, in a Hunter's line of work—or that Brooke was able only to sense an angels' Grace, and nothing else about them. From what Anna had said about Grace, Brooke assumed it was something like an angel's soul, but it also gave them their powers. Her head spun, trying to keep everything straight.

###

Brooke hadn't slept in two days, afraid that if she fell asleep, Castiel would come to her in dreams. And she didn't know if she could lie straight to his face. She hadn't told anyone, yet, that he could read her thoughts, and she his, even if she didn't understand most of his thoughts.

Ruby, the demon, had created some kind of hex bag, or something like it, to prevent the angels from being able to see Anna. So far, that had kept the angels off their trail, though Brooke didn't know why Castiel hadn't checked in with her to see if she knew where Anna was. Perhaps he thought hiding Anna at Bobby's house would be too obvious.

After returning from the oak tree that contained none of Anna's grace, Brooke had spent most of her time sitting on the couch, somewhere between awake and asleep. They left her sitting there, moved and talked around her. She tried to fight it but she could feel herself slipping.

Eventually, she was more asleep than awake.

_Brooke…_

He was there, somewhere in her mind.

_Where is Anna?_

She jerked awake, startled by the closeness of his voice. It had sounded like he was right by her ear, but no one was there when she opened her eyes. She scrubbed at her face with her hands.

"Brooke."

She jerked again, startled, and stared up at Sam, who had come over to her. "Come on, we're leaving. We're going to the barn."

"The barn," she murmured. "Right." She stumbled up off the couch.

###

Brooke stood, swaying on her feet, in. the barn with the others. The only one missing was the demon. Ruby. Surely two days wasn't that long in terms of sleep deprivation. The adrenaline should have been keeping her more awake than this, but she swayed nonetheless. She swayed as they all spoke around her. She swayed as she felt the Grace of two angels pinpointing their location.

She dropped to her knees and screamed in agony as two angels, both unshielded from her mind, burst through the barn doors. It was too much, even if one of them was Castiel. His Grace was recognizable to her. She knew him. She knew what he felt like. But his light was nearly blinding to her even _with_ whatever gift allowed her to see his true form without having her eyes burned out of her skull. But two at once—two fully-powered angels in the same place at the same time, so close to her… It was too much. She covered her head with her hands, squeezed her eyes shut, rocked back and forth on her knees, and screamed.

The other angel probed her mind the way Castiel had that first night. He was all needle pricks and daggers, curiosity coursing through him and into her. But his curiosity was cold and medical. _"GET OUT!"_ she screamed, both in her mind and aloud. Her whole being was in agony, the light of both angels washing over so completely that she felt like she was really on fire. She felt one of them, though she did not know which one, reach for her. She tried to pull away from his hand, but he gripped her shoulder tightly and then they were gone, out of the barn, somewhere far away.

She knew, then, that the angel who had grabbed her was Castiel. She could not even open her eyes to look at him. She remained on on the ground, her arms over her head, sobbing. The memory of the pure agony she had just experienced was too fresh.

"Brooke," he said, and his voice cracked on her name. She felt his despair, his regret, wash over her, followed quickly by a cold resolve, and then she was alone.

###

Sam and Dean found her on the road leading back to Bobby's house as they were heading in the opposite direction. out of town. It had taken her hours just to get this far, and she was grateful for the respite that their arrival provided her, even if Dean was pissed at her for… something.

"Brooke, what the hell?" he demanded as he got out of the car, slamming the door behind him.

She stared at him, too tired to pull some kind of witty retort from somewhere. "What the hell _what_?"

"What do you mean _what_? We were all in the barn and then two angels show up and you start screaming bloody murder!"

Sam came around from the passenger side of the car and put his hands up between them placatingly, but his face betrayed his own curiosity about what had happened back in the barn.

She knew, then, that she had to tell them the whole truth about her connection to angels and demons. She stared at Dean for a long time without speaking, then sighed deeply and asked, "Do you have any water in the car? I've been out here for hours."

Dean looked like he wanted to argue that she needed to tell them something first, but Sam opened one of the backseat doors and pulled a water bottle out of a cooler. She took it and downed the whole bottle in seconds. Then she leaned against the car and told them everything. Told them the full story of the night Castiel had rescued her. Told them about what being around angels was like for her—angels and demons. Told them she could read their thoughts, although she couldn't understand a lot of them. Told them why she had screamed bloody murder in the barn.

"I guess being around more than one at a time is too much, even for me," she admitted. "They're too… everything. Too bright, too loud, too big. I thought my head would explode. If Castiel hadn't taken me out of the barn, it might have _literally_ exploded."

"So, you being able to read angels is less like a superpower and more like a curse," Sam mused.

Brooke looked at him, eyebrows raised, annoyed that he would say something so negative. "Aren't you supposed to be the positive one?" she asked.

He chuckled. "Sorry."

"You can't be around us," Dean said, suddenly. "You know that, right? Now that we know the angels are the bad guys, you're kind of a liability."

" _Dean_ ," Sam snapped.

"No, he's right," Brooke said. It hurt that Dean had said it, but she knew it was true. "I need to leave. I need to get away from you two and Bobby, and anyone you're connected with, or they'll be able to use me to find you."

There was an awkward pause.

"What happened to Anna?" she asked, after a moment.

They told her about how Anna had taken her Grace back and vanished in a burst of light.

Brooke nodded slowly. "That's good. She's got her powers back. Maybe she'll be able to fight them off now." She took a breath. "Listen, I hate to be even more of a burden, but if I'm gonna make it very far and be able to keep my distance from you, I'm gonna need some stuff. You got any stolen credit cards with unisex names I could use? Or some cash, for now?"

Dean looked at her like he wanted to argue, a muscle in his jaw working, but he eventually nodded. Whether he was doing it out of kindness or just to get her away from him was beyond her, but either way, she was grateful. They left her standing by the road as they drove away. She watched them go, and then continued on her way up to Bobby's. He was still gone, so she wouldn't be putting him in danger by going back up his house. She just needed one of his cars and maybe an extra gallon of gas for the trunk.

She left him a note for when he returned, thanking him for all that he had done for her, told him not to worry about her, and then she took a car, a few extra weapons and ammo, some food for the road, and left.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is basically just fluff, but I felt it was necessary.

_Eight_

Over the next few months, Brooke got truly back into hunting. The ghost of a man haunting a house who had murdered all of his children while they'd been sleeping; a wraith masquerading as a teacher in an elementary school (that one had been particularly awful). There were more.

She stayed away from anything that stank of demonic possession. With Bobby's charm necklace, she was safe from being possessed, herself, but it seemed like a bad idea to get involved with demons at all. Especially now that angels were real and hanging out down here on Earth.

Castiel hadn't contacted her at all, for which she was both grateful and sad. Sometimes, in dreams, she thought she felt his presence right before waking up, but it was never a certain feeling. He never whooshed into her motel room, or actually talked to her in her dreams. He had vanished, which was probably good, since angels were the bad guys now. She didn't know if she'd have had it in her to fight him, or run away, if he came directly to her. At the very least, if he showed up looking for Sam or Dean, or Anna, even if he searched her mind, she wouldn't be able to give him any information. Since she'd left, she hadn't spoken to either of the brothers, or to Bobby.

Bobby was the only one she really missed. Of course, she craved Castiel's nearness, but, after some time away from him, she had come to realize that that had less to do with genuine feeling and more to do with the fact that being near him was like taking drugs. It probably hadn't been healthy, whatever trajectory they'd been on. But Bobby, despite his gruffness and the fact that they'd ignored each other half the time, had kept her safe. He'd let her sleep in his house, he'd given her clothes and food, and weapons to protect herself with. She would be grateful to him forever, even if she'd only been in his house for a couple months. Somehow, his couch had been more comfortable than any motel bed.

###

_Brooke was drowning. The ocean waves crashed down over her head, and the sky raged above her. Every time a wave pushed her down, she fought her way to the surface, gasping for air, but her body was tiring. She'd been out here for hours, and no rescue boat had come. She was so far from land, there was no way she'd make it to shore before her body quit on her. The water was like ice in her veins. Her arms and legs felt like lead. She popped above the surface again, but just as she opened her mouth, another wave shoved her under. She swallowed water. There were spots at the corners of her vision._

_She was too far down this time. She knew she didn't have the energy or lung capacity to surface now. She stared upwards through the water, which was strangely clear, like pool water. Lightning lit up the sky, looking strange through the veil of water around her. Her lungs were screaming in agony._ Castiel _._

_"Brooke."_

_She gasped, blinking, and his face appeared above her, in the water. Air bubbles floated around him. He seemed to float strangely down to her, in a way that should have been impossible. Everything around him was lit up like the sun, and the water calmed as he came closer to her. One hand reached down for her. She tried to grasp it, but was too far down._

_"Wake up," he said._

_"What?"_

_He pushed himself down farther through the water, his coat fanning out around him like wings, and reached her. One hand cradled the back of her head, as if she were a child. She smiled at him, bringing her own hands up to to cup his face. His other hand, which had been about to touch her forehead, stopped. He squinted at her in that way of his, tilting his head to one side. He stared at her for a time, and they continued to float in the water._

_The storm had abated and suddenly she found she could breathe. More bubbles floated around his face as he breathed, some beading on his skin, in his hair. She brushed them away. His eyes glowed an enticing blue, staring at her like he was trying to burn a hole through her. Not a very inviting feeling, but it was one she had grown used to around him._

_She pulled his face closer to hers. He breathed, and the sound echoed around her brain like a wind tunnel. His lips touched hers for a split-second._

_Two fingers pressed into her forehead._

She opened her eyes to find herself in her motel room. Castiel stood over her, mostly dark, but backlit. They remained silent for some time.

Finally, Castiel muttered, "I should not have come here."

Brooke snatched one of his wrists in her hand. "Don't you fly off on me," she said, fighting through the sensations of the mental barrier between them shattering. He now stood before her in all his glory, light pouring from him, and a myriad of thoughts and emotions swirled around in her brain.

She took a steadying breath. "Last time I saw you, you were about to kill Anna for God knows what reason. What are you doing here? We haven't spoken in months."

"The fear in your voice was real," he said.

She squinted at him. "What?"

"In your nightmare, your fear was real. You… called out to me. I heard you. All I knew was that you were terrified. I didn't know the cause."

Her fingers, still circling his wrist, squeezed. "You came because you thought I was dying," she whispered.

"Yes," he said.

She sat with the knowledge of that for a while, sifting through her thoughts. "You know, I don't think I ever properly thanked you for saving my life that night," she said, gently, after a time. "I was so awed by you that I wasn't thinking very clearly."

"Well, you're welcome," he replied.

They were quiet.

"You should not have kissed me," he said, suddenly.

She smiled a little. "It was a dream, you know. I don't think I was fully aware of what I was doing."

"It was a _sin_ ," he said, and a feeling somewhere between fear and anger lashed across her mind.

She sucked in a breath and let go of his wrist. "Well, I'll remember not to do it the next time you save my life."

"A verbal thank-you would suffice."

Silence followed this statement.

"Since you're not dying," Castiel said, "I should go."

"Wait."

He remained standing beside the bed.

"You said you heard me cry out to you in the dream. Do you hear me every time I talk to you?"

"Yes."

"So, all those nights at Bobby's…"

"Yes."

She remembered the times she had laid on the couch late at night, unable to sleep, and prayed to Castiel, telling him about her day, telling him her secrets.

"Castiel… you're a _good_ guy, aren't you?"

"I hope so," he said quietly, and vanished.

###

A week passed, and Castiel appeared in her motel room again. It was a different motel room now, a different state. She'd been getting ready for bed and had pulled her shirt off to start putting on sleep clothes. She heard the air rustle behind her and stood still. She had a bra on, but her face flushed all the same.

"Uhhh…" he said.

She closed her eyes.

"I… I've turned my back to you," he said after a moment.

She breathed deeply and pulled the shirt back on over head. Afterwards, she turned to him and put a hand on his arm. He faced her slowly, eyes darting everywhere but her face. She put a hand on his cheek, hoping to steady him. The barrier broke, but more gently than it usually did. The room filled with his light, which still took her breath away, but it was easier to see past it, to think through it. Perhaps she was getting used to this, to being near him. Although she still could not understand his thoughts, she could feel his emotions were all aflutter. She'd never felt him so nervous before.

"Castiel," she whispered.

His eyes stilled. He stared at her.

"Why are you here?" she asked, gently.

"Uriel is dead," he answered, although that didn't really make things any clearer.

"Who?"

"The angel who was in the barn with me the night we came to kill Anna."

She nodded, remembering. Her hand was still on his cheek, but he hadn't made any kind of movement to suggest that he disliked it there. "How did Uriel die? Are you all right?"

"I'm—I'm fine," he said.

She could feel the lie in her mind, and she knew that he knew it. She held his gaze and waited.

"I'm fine, physically. But I'm…" He turned away from her, and she dropped her hand. "I'm so confused."

Brooke swallowed. She watched him, but didn't say anything.

"I used to be so sure that I knew what I was supposed to do," he said, softly. "I had orders and I followed them. But this mission… Uriel killing angels…"

"What?" Brooke interrupted, alarmed.

Castiel turned to face her again. "I only came to tell you that I think you're safe now."

She shook her head. "Look, I know _you're_ confused, but now you're confusing _me_. What—what do you mean Uriel was killing angels?"

"He no longer trusted the Will of God. He thought the orders were coming from someone else. He was… converting my brothers and sisters, and killing those who refused to join him. He wanted to free Lucifer, to start the Apocalypse." Castiel was speaking very quickly, and though she wasn't touching him, she could hear a jumble of thoughts in his head, twisting around themselves over and over.

For his sake, as well her own, she quickly placed both hands on his face and said, " _Castiel_!" She said his name loudly, and with conviction, trying her best to replicate that whip-like effect he could so easily use on her. She needed to snap him out of whatever funk he was in, before he took a leap off a cliff, straight into mental breakdown.

He quieted, and the jumble of thoughts swirling around dissipated.

"Come here," she said, her voice gentler now. She looked up at him, and pulled his head down until their foreheads touched. He stiffened for a few seconds, almost pulled away, then gave in and let his forehead rest against hers.

"Close your eyes," she told him, and waited.

He hesitated for a moment, then did as he was told. His eyelashes were long, and quite feminine.

She closed her eyes, too, keeping her hands on his face, holding his forehead to hers. "Breathe," she instructed. She inhaled slowly, and heard him do so, as well. They exhaled at the same time. She took four more breaths with him, long and slow and deep, before releasing his face from her hands. When she stepped back from him, he looked and felt more familiar to her. More sure, more soldierly. But there was a glimmer of something different in him, something gentler, something almost human.

"Thank you," he murmured.

"When I had nightmares as a child," she explained quietly, "my mother would do that with me."

Castiel stood still and looked at her for a time, and Brooke stood and looked back. There was less electricity between them, and even his angelic light seemed a little less cold, and more comforting. She didn't know if that was really the case, or if she was imagining it, or if this was simply what happened when one got used to staring at angels. But she liked it.

"I didn't want to kill Anna," he said, after a time. "She's still alive. She saved me from Uriel."

"Uriel attacked you?" A thrill of fear went through her.

Castiel's eyes softened. He reached out a hand touched her cheek for a moment—the first time he had done so. "Yes, he attacked me when I wouldn't join him. Anna killed him."

"Remind me to thank her if I ever see her again," Brooke said, faintly.

"Now that Uriel is dead," he went on, "you are safe to follow Sam and Dean in their plans to stop the Apocalypse."

"What are you talking about?"

"I told you I came to let you know that you are safe now. Uriel… He—they _all_ —know about you. But Uriel knew the most about you, aside from me, and he was concerned that I was growing… too close to you. That's why I stayed away for so long after that night with Anna in the barn. I was afraid he might… _remove_ you, if he thought you were distracting me too much."

"Kill me, you mean."

"Yes."

"Well," Brooke said, shaking her head. " _That's_ comforting."

"He's dead now," Castiel sad, again.

Brooke laughed mirthlessly, shaking her head at Castiel. He squinted at her in confusion. "He's dead, yes," she said. "So you've come to tell me the threat is passed, and now I can go join Sam and Dean to… fight other monsters, and possibly other angels, and demons, to try and stop the Apocalypse. As if, somehow, Uriel was the greatest of all threats to my life."

Castiel looked at the floor. "I realize how foolish of me it was to assume that Uriel, of all threats, would be the worst. He was simply the threat closest to me, and I spend a lot of time with Sam and Dean. I could not let him… see me in your presence. He might have been able to detect our… bond."

"Bond?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"The mental connection that we share."

Brooke stared at him. "The angels don't know that I can read your _mind_?"

"No," he said. "They know only that you can see the true forms of angels and demons, but not to what extent. Uriel… got a small taste of it in the barn—

Brooke made a face at the idea of Uriel _tasting_ any part of her.

"—but he was not near you long enough to realize what was truly happening."

Brooke looked around the room without really seeing it. "That's partly why you took me so far away, isn't it?" she asked. "It wasn't just because it was painful. You were trying to protect me. You didn't want him to know how closely I can connect with angels." She looked up at him. "Or with _you_ , specifically."

Castiel couldn't meet her gaze at all.

She folded her arms across her chest. "You know we've only met a handful of times, but I could swear you've got a crush on me. And last week when I kissed you in the dream…"

She saw him flinch.

A slow smile crept across her face. "You know Castiel… methinks thou doth protest too much."

He finally looked at her again, face full of confusion. " _What_?" he asked.

"You don't know _Shakespeare_?" She shook her head. "It means you're protesting so much to something that I'm beginning to think you really feel the opposite. Oh you can't _possibly_ have feelings for me." Her voice dripped with sarcasm. "You're an _angel_. It would be _wrong_."

"It would be," he said, breathing heavily. He studied her face, and his eyes were… hungry.

She looked at him in partial disbelief, unsure of whether or not she'd really seen the look she thought she'd seen. Hesitantly, she brushed her fingers across his cheek. Fire seared through her body, and settled, curling, at her core. Passionate fire. Longing fire.

Her heart pounded in her chest. She drew closer to him, brought both hands up to his face. He was still breathing hard, like he'd just run a marathon.

_I'm an angel. I don't need to jog._

The words came back to her and she smiled in amusement. She knew that he'd remembered them, too, or simply seen her memory.

She took a breath. "How wrong would it be?" she whispered.

He stared at her, eyes flaring. "Very," he said. And kissed her.

Her world exploded. His mind invaded hers, every corner, every dark memory she'd ever kept hidden—even from herself. If it had been anyone else, she would have considered it the worst violation of her privacy. But they had already shared so much, whether accidentally or not, that she simply let him in. She had always trusted him completely. The thing with Anna had been a stumbling block, but even then, she'd only stayed away to protect Sam and Dean, who were meant to stop the Apocalypse.

She didn't care if he knew everything about her. She relished it. A lifetime on the road, hunting the things that went bump in the night, had left little time for relationships. She'd only had her mother, and when she'd left the life, even her mother and she had gone their separate ways. She gave herself over to Castiel, glad to finally allow someone else to share her burden.

His mind was still a maze to her, though she pieced certain memories together. Castiel fighting hoards of demons; Castiel losing brothers and sisters in battles; Castiel questioning the will of God, questioning himself. There was so much of him; he felt more than even _he_ thought he did. It was only that he had lived so long, and he was such a vast being, that his emotions got lost on the way to his brain. But they were there, and they were strong. The idea that angels were emotionless soldiers was something that he had been _taught_ , and he'd eventually come to believe it. Now that he was feeling again, he'd thought that meant something was wrong with, but that simply wasn't true. Even angels were allowed to _feel_.

There was a roaring, ringing sound in her ears, and her vision was white, like when you stood up too fast. Her vision came back first, and she saw that Castiel was looking down at her with concern. She was being held up by him, literally. Her legs had given out. His mouth was moving, but she couldn't hear what he said.

"… Brooke… Brooke!"

Finally, her hearing came back, and soon afterwards, her ability to stand on her own. She braced herself against him and stood on her own two legs, wobbling slightly. "What… what just happened?" she asked, her voice very faint.

"I… I'm not sure. I think… one or both of us… may have gone overboard. Humans… humans have a hard time understanding the minds of angels even when an angel explains themselves in a language that humans can understand. Human minds were not meant to comprehend an angel's thoughts." Castiel lowered her to the bed, gently, and sat beside her.

She blinked slowly, feeling drugged. Her mind was sluggish. "I think what you're really trying to say…" she began, her voice slurred. "Is that you just fucked my mind with your mind… except your mind… didn't fit. Too big." She grinned, and then laughed, and then fell against his shoulder in a fit of giggles.

"I…" he said, dragging the sound out. "What?"

"Dick joke," she said. "You're a big, strong angel. I'm a fragile human. You're dick's too big. You broke my…" She began to giggle hysterically again.

He stared at her. "I… understand," he said, eventually.

She calmed down after a time, and seemed to come down from her high. She was still leaning against his shoulder. He sat still, his hands in his lap.

"Is it gonna be like that _every_ time we kiss?" she asked him, in a teasing manner. "Because… I don't know if I can handle that."

"I… don't think so," he said, slowly.

Hesitantly, he lifted one hand out of his lap and placed it on top of one of her hands. She smiled and closed her eyes, keeping her head on his shoulder. They sat like that for a long time.


	9. Chapter 9

_Nine_

Late afternoon light hit Brooke in the face as she drove down a back road somewhere to her latest case. She squinted against the sunlight, annoyed that the visor wasn't doing its job.

Castiel appeared suddenly in the passenger seat.

Brooke sucked in a breath, barely managing not to jerk the wheel of the car or slam on the breaks. She imagined that only her mental connection to the angel had kept her from freaking out.

"Hello, Brooke," he said. It was his usual greeting. What was unusual was the way he said it. Normally, his voice would have been cold and devoid of feeling, but this time he greeted her almost warmly.

"Do you often appear randomly in people's cars while they're driving?" she asked, by way of response. "You could have killed me!"

"No," he said immediately. "If you had crashed, I would have saved you." His voice had gone from warm to deadly serious in the space of a heartbeat.

"All right, calm down," she said, reaching out with her mind to soothe him. "It was a bad joke."

"Bad," he echoed. "Yes."

They hadn't seen each other since the night they had kissed, and although given permission to go to Sam and Dean—not that she had needed Castiel's permission—Brooke had remained on her own. The truth was, she didn't know the boys very well and was afraid she'd get in the way if she just showed up unannounced. And she hadn't gotten either of their numbers before she'd left, so there was no way to really contact them, anyways.

"Speaking of Sam and Dean," Castiel began—Brooke smiled in amusement that Castiel had been casually reading her thoughts like that—I need you to come with me to see them.

"You _need_ me to?" she repeated, surprised.

"Well. No," he said.

She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, then, feeling that she was missing something, pulled over to the side of the road.

"I was… wondering if you… wanted to come with me." He said the words slowly, as if they were difficult to get out.

She raised her eyebrows at him.

"It will probably be dangerous. Even though Uriel is no longer a threat, Sam and Dean seem to attract trouble wherever they go."

"Castiel," she teased, grinning at him, "are you asking me out on a date?"

He stared at her, head tilted to the side like a puppy. "Hardly," he said. "I'm serious. It could be dangerous."

"I'm in, let's go." She put a hand on his shoulder, breathing sharply through her nose as the barrier broke completely. It had not been up entirely, she realized, since he'd been able to read her thoughts just now. She must be getting used to being around him, with or without a barrier in place.

Castiel looked at her for a moment, studying her face, then she felt a tug at her body and they were standing in a house.

Before she even had time to take in her surroundings, she heard Castiel command, sharply, "Dean, let him go!"

Dean held a small, scruffy-looking man up against the wall. He turned on his heel in surprise at Castiel's voice, and then stared at her for a second in even more surprise before turning back to the angel.

"This man is to be protected," Castiel said, his voice low in warning.

"Why?" Dean demanded.

"He's a prophet of the Lord."

Brooke stared at Castiel; this was news to her.

The scruffy little man stared at Castiel, and Brooke knew the look in his eyes. It was the look she was sure she had had upon her first meeting with the angel. "You…" he began, his voice breathy with wonder. "You're… Castiel… aren't you?"

Castiel's gaze flicked from Dean to him. "It's an honor to meet you, Chuck."

Chuck tore his gaze away from Castiel long enough to see Brooke standing beside him. "And you must be… Brooke."

Brooke gave him a tight-lipped smile. "Hi," she said, shortly.

The men continued to speak around her, and she simply stood and listened, having nothing to add. After a few tense minutes of incredulousness on the part of Dean _and Chuck_ , the feeble little man made his way quickly upstairs.

Brooke watched him go. "He seem a little jumpy to you?" she asked the men.

Dean raised his eyebrows at her and shrugged. "He's seemed jumpy all day." He turned to Cass. "Him. Really?" he asked, continuing their earlier conversation.

"You should've seen Luke," Castiel replied.

They spent another few minutes arguing about prophecy, and then Dean disappeared out the door to go after Sam.

Castiel put a hand on Brooke's shoulder, and she could tell he was about to _whoosh_ them away somewhere. "Wait," she said.

He waited.

"I want to ask Chuck something."

"What?" Castiel asked.

"I want to ask him about me. About… us." She glanced at Cass out of the corner of her eye.

Castiel squinted at her. "I don't—

She turned to face him. "You can't tell me you're not curious," she said. "I mean, you _really_ can't. Your hand is on my shoulder. I can hear your thoughts. I can _feel_ your curiosity."

Castiel looked at her and sighed, nodding once in assent. He released her shoulder and stood, waiting. Brooke stood beside him with her arms crossed. They stood for ten minutes before Chuck came creeping back down the stairs.

"You're still here," he said, peeking at them as if he were a mouse.

She squinted at him. "And that… _surprises_ you… _prophet_?"

Chuck sighed in resignation. "No," he said, spitting out the word like a sulky teenager. "I know why you stayed. You want to know why Castiel saved you, why you can see him, why you're… connected." Chuck was still only halfway down the stairs, as if he thought the banister would protect him from them.

"We don't bite, you know," Brooke said.

"I'll stay here," Chuck replied, glancing between her and Castiel.

"What, did you have a vision that we attack you, or something?" she asked.

"No. I just like it better up here."

Brooke gave up. "Okay, whatever. Look, just… I just want to know what… what my purpose is. Why…" She gave up even trying to ask, knowing that he probably already knew everything she was going to ask, anyways.

Castiel was still as a statue beside her, but she could feel his curiosity leaking from him.

"I haven't seen much about you," Chuck admitted. "All I really know is that you're… you're a witness."

Brooke stared at him. "A witness to what?"

"The Apocalypse?" he said, his voice coming out as a sort of squeak. But he didn't sound very sure of himself.

Brooke nodded slowly. "And what about my connection to him?" she asked, tilting her head in Castiel's direction.

"He is…" Chuck glanced at the angel. "He's the reason you're a witness, I guess. The… catalyst for your part in the plot."

"That's _it_?" she demanded. "That—that doesn't explain why I can see angels, or demons, or… or any of it."

"I-I haven't seen that far ahead," Chuck whimpered. "I'm sorry. I just know that _you_ are meant to witness and _he_ is meant to protect you."

Brooke's eyes flashed up to meet Chuck's. "Protect me from what?"

Chuck threw his arms in the air, clearly exasperated. "I don't know yet. Something will happen, but I don't know what, and I don't know when. Just… I'm sorry." He glanced between the two of them for a moment, his face the picture of sheer terror, and then fled back upstairs.

Brooke stood there, watching the place where he'd been standing, for at least a minute after he had gone. Her mind was spinning.

"Brooke," Castiel said, finally. "We should go now."

She nodded absent-mindedly and allowed herself to be teleported away.

###

Brooke had checked herself into a motel room for the night, somewhere in the same town that Sam and Dean were, but far enough away so as not to somehow run into them. Dean seemed either annoyed at her presence or utterly indifferent, so she intended to stay away from him. Castiel sat in the room with her for a time, though neither of them spoke, much.

She could tell that he, too, was thinking about what Chuck had said about them. He was sitting in a chair across from her bed, his hands folded over each other. He rested his elbows on his knees, and his chin on the knuckles of one hand. There was a clock on the wall; its ticking grew louder and louder.

"So we're part of some prophecy now?" Brooke asked, finally, breaking the silence.

Castiel didn't move, but his blue eyes flicked up to meet hers. He stared at her silently.

"Well," she said, "it doesn't change anything. We still share a connection, and I don't really care why." She sat up straighter on the bed, stretching her arms above her head. "I guess this means you were right to bring me here, though. If I'm supposed to witness the Apocalypse, then being around Sam and Dean feels like the right call."

Castiel muttered, "He didn't sound sure when he said it. That you were meant to witness the Apocalypse." He turned his gaze away from her, thinking.

"I noticed that too. I don't think he knows, really, what I'm supposed to witness."

"He _did_ sound sure about the fact that I'm meant to protect you from something."

Brooke studied him, noting the worry that was wafting from his mind like cold air. "If it's a prophecy, then… you won't fail, right? It happens as it's written."

"That's correct."

"Then stop worrying."

Castiel shook his head and looked at her again. "I believe I can protect you," he said. "I just wish I knew _what_ I was protecting you _from_."

"I'm sure you'll know it when it happens."

He got up from the chair and went to her, brushing his fingers lightly across her cheek. A rush of thoughts sounded in her head, alien as ever. It all sounded like chanting, the way multiple thoughts strung together in this never-ending, deep-throated language. The words all started with a consonant and ended in a vowel, but that was about all she could pick up from them. So many words overlapped that it came out as a jumbled mess.

Castiel's finger pulled away from her cheek and pushed into the side of his head, as if he were suddenly attacked with a headache. He inhaled sharply and went stiff, his eyes glowing blue-white. After a few seconds, he reached out and gripped her shoulder tightly—

###

She was standing outside, beside the motel. No, not her motel. _A_ motel.

"Prayer is a sign of faith," Castiel said, and Brooke looked up at him, assuming that he was speaking to her.

She heard footsteps and looked for their source to find Dean standing beside a vending machine.

"This is a good thing, Dean," Castiel continued, moving closer to him.

Dean's gaze flicked toward Brooke. He glared at her. "Could you _give_ us a minute?" he demanded.

She felt Castiel's flare of anger at Dean's tone towards her, but placed a hand on his shoulder. He calmed. She looked at Dean, put both hands up in front of her, palms out, as a sign of surrender, and walked away. She kept walking until the corner of the building came up, then she stepped behind it and leaned against the wall. _Out of sight, out of mind_ , she thought.

She did not hear what they spoke about, and wasn't trying to listen, either. She figured Castiel probably should have left her in her own motel room, and had only brought her with him because he'd been on automatic, trying to reach Dean as quickly as possible without thinking that Dean probably wanted privacy.

She waited a minute, two. Maybe three. The air rushed around her and Castiel stood before her.

"Everything okay?" she asked.

"Yes," he said, and held out his hand. "I think so."

She gripped it, closed her eyes, felt a tug on her body, and blinked open her eyes to find them both back in her motel room. She felt dizzy. Castiel gripped both of her shoulders to steady her.

"I don't think humans are meant to travel like that," she said, and laughed.

"No," he agreed.

She opened her eyes after a moment, feeling less dizzy. Castiel kept both hands on her shoulders. "You should have left me here," she told him. "Dean doesn't like me much."

"It doesn't matter," Castiel replied. "You are part of a prophecy. You are meant to witness. So you will witness."

She shook her head. "But we don't know what I'm supposed to be witnessing."

"Exactly," he said. "And until we figure that out, you will witness as much as you can."

Her eyes rolled up to the ceiling. "Oh, Dean'll _love_ that."

"He'd better," Cass growled.

She smiled, shaking her head slowly. "All things considered, we don't know each other that well, yet you are… _fiercely_ protective of me. It's a little creepy sometimes."

"I'm _supposed_ to be protective of you."

"Well, yes, but you were like this even before we knew that."

"Prophecy happens as it is written. Even if I didn't know I was meant to protect you, I still did it, because it was supposed to happen that way."

She stared at him. "There's got to be more to it than that."

"There is, and you know exactly _what_."

He was right; she _did_ know. She knew that, despite their handful of meetings at most, that they couldn't simply ignore each other. Every time he was near her, she ended up spending more time in _his_ head than her own—feeling _his_ emotions. And she knew that that connection went both ways. She supposed that, after experiencing a connection as close as theirs, whether they wanted it or not, that it was no easy task to ignore each other. To walk away from each other. She still didn't think she loved him, even despite the kiss, despite the closeness that they shared. Well—she did love him, but in a way that was nearly unexplainable. He felt less like a lover in the traditional sense, and more like… a missing limb, a missing half. A part of her.

She led him to the bed and sat down with him. "Explain to me what roles Sam and Dean play, exactly, in stopping the Apocalypse," she said.

"I don't know everything."

"Tell me what you _do_ know. If I'm meant to witness, then I need to know."

He told her all he knew.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another shorter chapter because originally, this was way too long, so I decided to break it up into pieces.

_Ten_

Brooke wandered the broken remains of the building where Castiel had told her to meet him.

###

_"Brooke." He was jogging beside her at Bobby's._

_She stopped, looking around. She didn't remember coming back to Bobby's._

_"Am I dreaming?" she asked._

_"Yes. I must speak with you, in person. Meet me here." He took a slip of paper out of his coat pocket and handed it to her._

_"Castiel, what's wrong?" she asked him, reaching up to touch his face. He was shielded from her._

_"Not here," he said, backing away from her, and vanished._

_She unfolded the slip of paper and read the address._

###

She heard the sound of voices echoing up through the stairwell. Sam and Dean.

"Guys!" she called to them. "Over here!"

"Brooke?" Sam's voice bounced around the walls.

The boys reached the spot where she stood, aiming her flashlight at a symbol, drawn in blood, on the wall.

"Look familiar?" Dean asked.

Brooke shook her head, but Sam said, "Yeah, it does."

"Anna used something like that to wish the angels back to the cornfield," Dean explained, when Brooke gave the boys a confused look.

She nodded. She didn't understand everything about what he'd said, but she got the important part. "Cass was here," she said.

"Did you see him?" Dean asked, his voice sharp.

"No," she said. "But I have to assume…" She ran the flashlight beam around the room, noting the damage, and then aimed it back at the symbol.

"So, what?" Sam mused. "Cass was fighting the angels?"

"I don't know," Dean replied, turning away. He began to move about the room, and suddenly called out, "Hey, guys!" He was kneeling by a body. Castiel's body.

Brooke rushed over to him.

"Hey, Cass? Cass!" Dean shook him by the shoulder.

Brooke's head was spinning. Something was wrong. She should have known that he was in the room, even passed out. But she felt nothing from him, not even a glimmer of Grace.

"What's going on?" Castiel asked, as he awoke, but his voice was different. Higher. Squeakier. Confused and… human.

She stared at him as he stood up. "He's not Cass," she said, quietly.

"What?" Dean demanded.

Brooke did not repeat herself. She didn't need to.

"Castiel?" said the man, who had once been possessed by an angel. "I'm not Castiel. It's me."

Sam squinted at the man. "Who's _me_?"

"Jimmy. My name's Jimmy."

Brooke felt some part of herself die as she stared at this man—Jimmy. She remained kneeling on the floor.

"Where the hell is Castiel?" Dean asked.

Jimmy shook his head, staring desperately between the two men. Then he looked down at her, and he looked… sad. Hurt. "He's gone."

Brooke stared up at him, into his eyes. The eyes that were still so blue, even in the dim lighting. But those eyes were missing something, and his expression towards her was guarded. Guarded, sad, hurt… angry.

###

"My name is Jimmy Novak. I'm from Pontiac, Illinois," Jimmy said, pausing in his desperate attempt to eat as quickly as possible. He stared at Brooke from across the room, with those eyes full of anger. "And I have a _family_."

She closed her eyes, finally understanding. The car ride here had been hell. Having to sit in the back seat with this man who stiffened in rage every time he looked at her. He wasn't just angry at her. He was angry at Castiel. He was angry about a lot of things, she was sure. But his anger at _her_ was because he had a wife and kids, and she'd kissed him. Not just Cass. _Him_. _Jimmy_. He had been there to witness it, even if he didn't remember all of it.

Brooke buried her face in her hands, refusing to look at him. She felt like a slut. Somehow, this had never occurred to her. Castiel… his body—his _true_ body—was made of light and energy. In order to come down to Earth and interact with humans without blinding them or killing them, he had needed to possess a body. Jimmy Novak's body.

###

Brooke paced in the back of the room as Sam and Dean argued with Jimmy.

"Look, I'm done, okay?" Jimmy said, exasperated. "With demons, angels—all of it. I just want to go home."

"Look, we understand," Dean began—

"No, I don't think that you _do_ understand. I've been shot and stabbed and healed, and my body's been dragged all over the Earth. By some miracle, I'm out, and I'm _done_." He spun, looking at Brooke, and jabbed a finger in her direction. "And I am done with _you_. I've given enough, okay?"

Brooke turned away to face the wall. She breathed. Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes, but she sniffed and swiped them away. Jimmy was right to be angry. Hell, she was angry at _herself_.

###

Jimmy had escaped, and by the time they finally got to his house, the demons had already gotten to him. To his family. Everything happened so fast. She got out of her car and followed Sam and Dean inside. There was yelling coming from the house. A man held a little girl with a knife to her throat. Dean rushed past Brooke and killed it.

The next thing Brooke really remembered was getting back behind the wheel of her car to follow the Impala out. They needed to get Jimmy and his family somewhere safe. But there _was_ nowhere safe. They parked in a parking garage somewhere, in the middle of the night, and Brooke stayed in her car.

She watched Sam and Dean talk to Jimmy. She watched Jimmy speak to his family. She rested her forehead against the steering wheel and cried. She followed the boys out of the parking garage. She followed them down the freeway. She slammed on the breaks when the Impala suddenly spun around after ten minutes, barely avoiding running into it.

"Fuck!" she yelled, tires squealing as she spun to follow them. Her cellphone rang, something she'd picked up some time after the incident with Chuck and Lilith. "What the hell happened?" she demanded.

"Demons got Jimmy's family," Sam said. "Again. They want the knife."

"The demon-killing knife?"

"Yes."

Brooke fumed for a moment. "So what do we do?"

###

She waited around with Sam and Dean while Jimmy went in alone. She spun in slow circles. _Cass, where are you?_ she prayed.

She got no response.

Men came up from behind them all and dragged them inside the building. Brooke fought so hard, her body fueled with the pent-up emotions of the last forty-eight hours, that she actually managed to break free for a few seconds. She sprinted away, but was caught almost immediately. The demon inside the man grabbed her and shoved her to the ground. He punched her in the jaw and she blacked out.

When she woke, it was to the sound of a gunshot. She sat up, bleary-eyed, and saw Castiel drop to his knees, blood spurting from his gut. She screamed, scrambled to her knees, crawled forward.

No. Not Cass. Jimmy. The demon inside his wife's body had just shot Jimmy.

"Oh God," she said, pulling Jimmy's hands away to see the extent of the wound. "Cass, where are you?"

_Here_ , he said, his voice echoing through her mind.

She looked up, and saw him—his true form, boundless, incorporeal, beautiful—enter the body of Claire Novak.

The demon instructed to kill Claire came towards her, and when he was close enough, Castiel, controlling the girl's body, brought a hand up and touched the demon on the forehead, smiting him. Castiel burned the ropes holding Claire's body to the chair. She got up. She walked past Jimmy, who stared at his little girl, possessed by an angel. "Castiel," he said, his voice shaking with the effort to stay alive, with the pain of the bullet in his gut.

_Castiel, don't do this to her_ , Brooke thought, desperately.

Sam was fighting a demon; Dean was fighting a demon. The little girl pressed her forehead to the demon that attacked Dean. The demon died in a flash of light. Sam stabbed the demon that had attacked him. His mouth was covered in blood. Demon blood. Brooke stared at him for a moment, but she had bigger worries on her mind.

The little girl turned her eyes to Jimmy. She knelt down beside him.

Brooke stared at Claire, not really seeing her. She stared at Castiel, whose true form leaked from the girl's body, bleeding light into the room. Light only she could see. " _Don't_ ," she said again, both aloud and in her mind. _She's a child._

_I do what I must_ , Castiel replied.

The angel spoke through Claire, touching Jimmy on the head: "Of course we keep our promises. Of course you have our gratitude. You served us well. Your work is done. It's time to go home now—your _real_ home. You'll rest forever in the fields of the Lord."

"No," Jimmy said, his voice breaking. He was sniffling, breathing heavily, sweating in pain.

"Rest now, Jimmy," Castiel said.

"No. _Claire_." Jimmy's voice so full of sorrow, pain, fear.

Brooke looked away.

"She's with _me_ now," said Castiel.

Jimmy groaned in pain, choking on blood.

"She's chosen," the angel continued. "It's in her blood, as it was in yours."

"Please, Castiel," Jimmy begged. "I mean, just—just take _me_. Take _me_ , please."

Brooke saw Sam and Dean approach. Sam held Amelia Novak by the arm, keeping her steady. Brooke could not look Jimmy's wife in the eye. She got up and moved far away from them all, but the conversation between Castiel—through Claire—and Jimmy could not be drowned out.

"I want to make sure you understand," Castiel went on. "You won't die… or age. This last year was painful for you. Picture a hundred—a thousand more like it."

Jimmy's breathing was becoming more and more erratic. "Doesn't matter," he said, through a mouthful of blood. Brooke could hear it in his throat. She put her hands over her ears, squeezing her eyes shut, but it didn't help.

"You take _me_ ," Jimmy demanded. "Just take _me_."

There was a pause.

"As you wish," Castiel said.

The warehouse filled with light.

Brooke fell to her knees and sobbed.

Between her sobs, she could hear Dean tell Castiel to wait. "What were you gonna tell me?"

"I learned my lesson while I was away, Dean. I serve Heaven. I don't serve man."

Brooke felt the hooks of righteous anger tear into her mind. She gasped with pain as he spoke again:

"And I certainly don't serve _you_."

She knew he was speaking not just to Dean. He was speaking to _her_. He felt wrong. He felt cold and distant, as he had the first time she had seen him. He was beautiful still, but beautiful like a statue made of ice.

He released his grip from her mind, leaving her raw and bleeding, and walked away.


	11. Chapter 11

_Eleven_

With Castiel angry and MIA, and with nowhere better to go, Brooke had followed Sam and Dean to Bobby's house. But nobody had filled her in beforehand about what was really going to happen once they got there. Sam had been thrown unceremoniously into the panic room to purge the demon blood, and she'd been interrogated about Castiel. It had taken an hour to convince Dean that she had no idea why he'd stormed off like that.

"He felt different," she explained, for the hundredth time. "He was… angry. Cold. Distant. He felt the way he felt the first time I met him. Like an _angel_. I mean, _really_ like an angel. Unfriendly. Terrifying."

Dean dragged his fingers through his hair.

She knew this really wasn't about her. She was just as upset as he was. This was about Castiel—and whatever was wrong with him.

"I think they hurt him," she said, quietly. "Tortured him, maybe. He said he… _learned his lesson_ while he was away." She sat down on the couch in Bobby's living room. "I think they broke him. Brainwashed him, maybe. It's the only explanation that makes sense."

Dean shook his head, but didn't speak. After a moment, he left the house.

From the basement, Brooke could hear Sam screaming, banging on the door, begging to be let out of the panic room.

###

A day passed. Two. In that time, Sam's screams had worsened, and Brooke had spent most of her time out of the house to avoid the noise. She practiced, she drilled, she took runs. Over and over again, until she was exhausted enough to sleep through the sounds of Sam's pain. Bobby and her spoke, sometimes, of small things. She had missed him since leaving him and the boys all those months back.

She awoke in the early hours on the second night, gasping. Castiel was here, and his presence had forced her awake, like being drenched with ice water. Except it felt more like fire in her veins. She knew exactly where he was, outside in the scrapyard. She got up off the couch and pulled her shoes on as quickly as possible, nearly tripping on her way out the door in her desperation to reach him.

_No_ , his voice sounded in her mind. _I'm here to speak to Dean, alone. You will stay in the house_.

She shook her head, taking off toward his location at a dead run. _Like hell_ , she spat back.

_STAY!_ he commanded, and that feeling like the lash of a whip cracked across her mind. It was so strong that she couldn't fight through it. She cried out and fell to her knees, holding her head in her hands. Her thoughts scattered, her vision, inside her closed eyelids, going white. A ringing, roaring sound filled her ears.

She didn't know how long she'd been like that, on the ground. Minutes? Hours? Suddenly she was back to normal, as if none of it had ever happened. She could see again, and she could see Castiel's shoes on the ground in front of her. He yanked her, painfully, to her feet, grasping her arm so tightly that she cried out.

"Listen to me," he growled, putting his face so close to hers that she couldn't see his features clearly. Power surged from him, and it was so strong, and he was so full of rage, that she nearly passed out.

"You have been a thorn in my side long enough." He held her chin in his other hand, forcing her head to keep facing him. She grabbed at his hand automatically, trying to pull it away from her face, but it was no use. His grip was like iron. Her jaw began to ache from how hard he was squeezing her.

"If you get in my way, I will _kill you_." He pushed her back a little, so that she could look at him without her eyes crossing. She stared at him, breathing hard. "Do you understand me?" he demanded, shaking her a little.

Some part of him broke. For just a second, a trickle of despair and terror filtered into her mind from his. The feeling was gone in a heartbeat.

"If you get in my way," he repeated, more slowly this time. " _I_ …" His eyes looked up for a second, at the night sky above their heads. He kept his gaze there for a fraction longer than what seemed necessary. He lowered his gaze back down to her. "… will _kill you_."

The angels. His superiors. She understood.

" _Tell me_ you understand!" he shouted.

"I understand," she ground out, though speaking was difficult, since his fingers were digging into her cheeks.

"Do you, girl?" he asked, his voice full of malice. "Do you really understand?" He stared at her, and though all the rest of him screamed anger and wrath, his eyes were questioning. He wanted to make sure she had gotten his message.

She knew she had to keep up the act. The other angels were probably watching them both right now.

" _Yes_ ," she spat, putting as much venom as she could muster into her voice. And for a second, she moved her eyes upwards, to the heavens.

Castiel released her arm and her face roughly, and then he turned and vanished a gust of wind.

###

Brooke awoke with a gasp the next night. Castiel stood over her on the couch. Before she could even begin to sit up, he pressed two fingers to her forehead. _Sleep_ , he commanded.

She fell back into darkness.

The next morning, she did not remember seeing him at all, and Sam was gone.

###

Dean had gone off to find Sam, and Brooke stayed behind with Bobby. She hardly spoke; she'd been feeling strange since she'd woken up that morning, as if she were forgetting something.

"What's the matter with you?" Bobby asked her, after she'd spent about an hour sitting the on the couch without moving.

She glanced up at him, shaking her head. "I dunno, Bobby," she admitted. "Something's… wrong."

Bobby studied her, folding his arms over his chest. "What d'you mean?"

She shook her head again, slowly. "Cass," she said.

"What?"

"All I know is that it's something to do with Castiel."

"What is it between you and that dick angel?"

"Hey!" Brooke's head snapped up to glare at Bobby. "He saved my _life_ , if you'll recall."

"Yeah, and what's he done since then?"

She sighed, nodding. "I can't really explain it to you; I just…"

"Right," said Bobby, in a tone that suggested he did not understand at all.

###

Dean returned from hunting down Sam empty-handed, but not for lack of trying.

Brooke sat, exhausted, as she listened to Bobby and Dean arguing about Sam, about Dean wanting to give up on him, about family. About love. She closed her eyes, trying to drone out their yelling.

The room went silent.

She opened her eyes, wondering, for a hysterical moment, if she were psychic on top of being able to see angels and demons. Dean was gone. Bobby stood in the middle of the room, staring at the spot where he'd been just a moment before.

Brooke stood up. "What the fuck?"

Bobby stared at her, then looked back at where Dean had been.

In desperation, they ran around Bobby's house and property, calling for him, but he was gone. When they'd exhausted themselves, they came back into the living room. Brooke sank onto the couch and Bobby sat in a chair nearby.

"Do you think the angels took him?" he mused. "He _was_ on call."

Brooke shook her head. "I didn't see anything, or feel anything…"

"Then what the hell…?" Bobby dug into his Jeans pocket, saying, "I'll call Sam. See if knows anything." But the call went straight to voicemail. He left an angry message and then snapped the cellphone shut.

_Cass_ , Brooke thought. _I know you can hear me. Where's Dean?_

There was no response.

Brooke and Bobby wandered around his house for hours, pulling their hair out. Bobby called every Hunter he knew, but no one had heard anything. Brooke paced back and forth, back and forth, in the living room, praying. She knew that some angel could swoop down and kill her for even talking to him, but she didn't care. She prayed and prayed.

_Find Dean_ , she told him. _Find Dean and help him. Help him stop the Apocalypse. Or go find Sam and bring him here. Do something, Castiel. I'm not afraid of the other angels. You shouldn't be, either. I know they have you on a leash. Snap it. Rip it from their hands. Find Dean, Castiel_.

For hours, she paced. She forgot to eat. The sun went down. Her legs were sore and stiff, but still, she paced. Bobby tried to get her to sit at some point, but she barely heard him.

_Castiel,_ she prayed. Eventually, all of her words, her thoughts, had jumbled into one big ball of emotion tied up in his name. She knew she didn't even really need to think out what she was praying to him. She knew that he could understand her, regardless. So, countless hours into her prayers, they simply became a chant of his name.

_Castiel… Castiel… Castiel…_

"I'm here, Brooke."

She felt his light upon her and burst into tears before she had even turned to face him. Her vision was blurred but she could see Dean standing beside him.

"You found Dean," she croaked, taking a step towards him. Her legs were all pins and needles, and she stumbled.

"Cass, we don't have time for this," Dean said.

"Wait," Castiel replied. "Just give us one minute."

He approached her with a strange gentleness, one she had not felt from him before. He was… unsure of himself, of her.

She was still sobbing, her breath coming out in gasps. Her legs shook with the effort of standing.

He cupped her face in his hands delicately, as if she might break. She inhaled sharply through her nose, remembering the way he had squeezed her face in one hand when he'd warned her about the other angels. He pulled his hands away at her memory, and a feeling of utter heartbreak washed over her, coming from his mind.

_It's okay_ , she said.

_No. It's not._

She placed her own hands on his face and brought him down to her, until their foreheads touched. _Close your eyes_ , she instructed.

_I remember_ , he said.

They closed their eyes and breathed, five deep, slow breaths, in tandem. By the time they were finished, her tears had abated. In the time it had taken to complete those five breaths, he had given her all of his recent memories. All of his feelings. She felt the pain of having to decide between helping Sam and Dean, and herself, of doing what he knew was right; or of sticking to his orders, as he had previously done for millennia. To disobey orders had never occurred to him before he had met Dean, before he'd met her. He was a creature of habit, and one who had believed, until recently, in the Plan. Whatever that Plan had been. All that righteousness inside him had been based on the fact that his cause had been the will of God.

But now God was no longer calling the shots. He had to find faith in something else—in some _one_ else. And he had chosen to place his faith in Dean, in Sam, and in Brooke.

They lifted their heads, and she stared into his eyes. She would have liked to stay there forever, just like that, but she knew there were far more important things to be doing. And besides, those beautiful blue eyes were not Castiel's eyes. They were the eyes of Jimmy Novak, who she knew was in there somewhere. She had not forgotten about him.

"Let's go," she said.

Castiel looked at her a little sadly, for he, now, was forced to remember that he was possessing the body of a man who had given up his life in service to a cause that was not even just. He, just like everyone else, had been strung along by angels playing God.

He took Brooke's hand, placed his free hand on Dean's shoulder, and teleported them away.


	12. Chapter 12

_Twelve_

Chuck looked shocked to see them all standing there in his dark living room. He hung up the phone and babbled to them about how they weren't supposed to be there, about how he hadn't written it like this. "You're not in this story," he complained.

"Yeah, well," Castiel said, "we're making it up as we go."

Brooke looked at him with a half-smile. It was a very human thing that he'd just said, and it amused her, despite the dire circumstances they were all in. Their plan had been sort of made up on the spot: go to Chuck's house, "threaten" him, and draw the attention of the Archangel Michael, as well as the others, so that Dean could find Sam and stop him from killing Lilith. It was a crazy plan, but it was all they had. Castiel had brought her along, despite the danger, because he had remembered what Chuck had told them: Brooke was a witness. That was her destiny, to witness the Apocalypse. And, although she and Castiel were still unsure whether or not that was what he had meant, they intended to keep that part of the prophecy if they could.

The room began to shake almost immediately after their arrival, and every electronic device in the room roared with static and emitted a high-pitched whine.

If Brooke had thought that being around Castiel, at first, was too much—or even that time in the barn when Castiel and Uriel had both been there—what she experienced now was leagues beyond that. She wanted to die. She was in so much pain, in fact, that she couldn't even cry out. It paralyzed her. Her head was thrown back, her arms spread, and her head felt like it was held in a vice. She wanted to curl in on herself and disappear, but Michael's form—the Archangel set to protect Chuck—was so vast and overwhelming, forcing her mind wide open, that she could not close herself to him. And he wasn't even in the room yet.

Castiel placed a hand on her shoulder, and she felt his mind envelop hers, doing his best to shield her. But he was so small, compared to Michael, so insignificant, that it was like trying to slap a bandaid over a full-body burn.

She knew that Castiel was speaking, but she did not understand anything he was saying. Her mind was too full of Enochian to even comprehend English. Michael's presence was like a weight on top of her, like an entire house pressing down around her. She wanted to scream but her throat could make no sound—

Suddenly she was standing somewhere else, and Castiel and Michael were gone. She gasped and fell to her knees, realizing that she hadn't been breathing at all.

"Come on," Dean said, yanking her to her feet. "We gotta find Sam."

They found him quickly enough, but not quickly enough to stop him. He and Ruby stood in altar room. They rushed forward, but Ruby smiled wickedly at them and slammed the doors in their faces.

"Sammy!" Dean yelled, slamming his hands on the doors.

Brooke pushed with all her might, but the doors did not budge. Dean found something heavy to use, and began to slam at the doors. All the while, he yelled Sam's name. Brooke backed up, slamming into one of the doors with her shoulder. It did not move. She tried again and again, ignoring the shooting pain from the constant abuse. She slammed into the door five, six, seven times. Finally, her body could produce no more adrenaline. She had used up much of her strength trying to simply survive Michael's presence. Her shoulder ached and twinged, sending stabs of pain down her arm. Beside her, Dean continued to slam into the door with the heavy object he'd found. A statue? She didn't know. She could barely lift her head.

She realized, then, that, assuming she survived this night, she would be useless in the fights to come. If angels were going to be as prevalent as they had been, she could not continue on in this way, held immobile or writhing in agony every time one appeared who wasn't Castiel. She needed to become stronger, better able to be around them. She needed to learn to fight them, or at least fight their hold over her.

She took a steadying breath, stood up, and began to ram the door again, with her other shoulder. Two broken shoulders would be the least of her worries if Lucifer walked free.

The doors suddenly burst open, almost of their own accord, and Brooke nearly fell over and she rammed her shoulder into nothing. She watched as Dean rushed forward to kill Ruby.

That was the last thing she really remembered. After that, her world became a blur. He was coming. That was all she could think: Lucifer is coming. He is coming. He is coming.

The room filled with light, shook, roared, and a high-pitched whine made her drop to her knees and cover her hands with her ears. Sam and Dean did the same.

_I HAVE COME,_ he said.

Brooke's mind shattered into a thousand pieces. Her eyes were closed against the light, but even closed, she could see his true form. _No_ , was the only thing she could think. She did not remember her own name, where she was, or how she had gotten here. All she could think was: _No_.

His true from was the most horrifying thing she had ever seen in her life. So terrifying as to be indescribable. Her mind shied away from him, and, though she did not notice, her body had curled into a ball on the ground. He was Hellfire and Brimstone; he was ice; he was every bad memory she had; he was every horror she could imagine. He was an angel, still, but that cold beauty had been twisted into something so monstrous that she could not comprehend it. _No,_ she thought, weakly, feebly. _No. No. No. No. No._

_YES_ , he said.

She screamed.

The world went dark.

###

She awoke long enough to be aware of the fact that her body was plummeting to the Earth. Someone shoved something onto her face. She passed out again.

###

She awoke in the back seat of a car. Sam and Dean were in the front seat, muttering to each other. She sat up all the way, opened her mouth to ask something, and coughed. She felt as if she'd just woken up with the worst flu of her life. Her entire body hurt, and her head… She remembered Lucifer, and felt her will seep from her body. They were all going to die.

"What happened?" she croaked, though she no longer really cared.

"What's the last thing you remember?" Dean asked.

"Lucifer," she said, shuddering as she said his name aloud.

"After that happened, something teleported us into an airplane," Dean explained. "The plane crashed. You've been out of it since."

Brooke sat in the backseat, silently, for a long time. Finally, she said, "Thanks for not leaving me."

Dean looked at her in the rear-view mirror. "Cass would kill us if we'd left you," he said.

###

They drove to Chuck's house in search of Castiel, only to find the house in shambles. The floor and the furniture were splattered with blood. There was no trace of anyone. Not Cass, not Chuck, not Michael. Brooke wandered the living room, fearing the worst.

Chuck appeared, swinging something long and heavy at Sam's head. The blow landed, but it was glancing. Brooke looked up when it happened, but she was sluggish, barely awake. She still felt very sick, and so tired she thought she might pass out again.

After Chuck calmed down, Dean asked him where Cass was.

"He's dead," Chuck replied.

Brooke's ears began ringing, and the rest of their conversation was muffled and sounded far away, or as if they were speaking underwater.

She fell to her knees on the floor of the living room. She would have sobbed, but she had no energy. She simply crumpled to the floor, staring at nothing, hearing nothing. It really was over. Everything was over. Lucifer had risen, and Castiel was dead. The End was nigh.

"Thought we'd find ya here," said a voice.

Brooke knew they were angels, but she didn't have the energy to fight them. They spoke around her, to Sam and Dean, and ignored her crumpled form on the floor. There were three of them in the room. Ordinarily, that would have been agony for her, but she was so tired and so distraught over Castiel's death that the pain they caused her barely touched her.

And soon they were gone, torn from the room by the sigil Dean had painted on the door, when he pressed his hand to it.

Brooke's ears rang. Dean squatted beside her, shaking her shoulder, saying something to her. She didn't understand him.

The sting of his slap woke her up a little. She gasped and her eyes focused. Her cheek burned.

"Pull it together, Brooke!" he demanded, loudly. "Let's _go_!" He yanked her up and set her on her feet. She nearly fell over again. He grabbed her by the shoulder and slapped her again.

Automatically, she grabbed his arm and twisted it behind his back. Rage kept her focused, aware of her surroundings. Sam took a step toward her.

"Good," Dean said, through the pain. "Good, you're with us again. Now let go of me. I won't hit you again."

She released his arm, breathing hard. He turned to face her. "I won't slow down for you again," he warned. "We got shit to do. I don't have time for you to fall apart. Let's _go_."

She nodded and followed him out the door.

###

It had been a few days since everything had gone down, and she, Sam, and Dean were holed up in a motel room somewhere. She knew it was awkward with her there. Neither of the boys really knew her, and now they were all forced to sit in the same room. She'd left once or twice to allow the brothers have their little spats without her hovering nearby, but, other than that, they'd all sat around together.

She'd tried to help them do research, to try and find Lucifer. She'd thrown out ideas, and they'd been kind enough to take them into consideration. But, mostly, they didn't speak to her.

That was why she was so surprised when Sam looked up from his father's journal and said, "How you holdin' up?"

She looked up from staring at the table and blinked, as if she'd been asleep. "Well, you know. Lucifer is out and Cass is dead. So, not great." Her voice dripped venom and sarcasm. She saw Sam's face crumple a little, and sighed. "Sorry. I'm just… It's a lot."

"Yeah," he said, quietly.

They were silent for a while.

Sam glanced behind him at Dean, who seemed to be ignoring them and flipping through TV channels. He looked back at her. "I wanted to ask…" he began, but stopped.

"What?" she prompted. "Look, the end is coming. I don't really have privacy issues right now. Just ask."

He pursed his lips. "What was it… about you and Cass?"

Brooke plastered a smile onto her face to prevent herself from crying. Her lips trembled. Since Chuck's house, she hadn't allowed herself to grieve, not wanting to slow the boys down. But the pain was still there, raw and bleeding, just below the surface. "Well," she said, shakily. "I told you and Dean about how I can… see angels' true forms. And… how I can hear their thoughts."

Sam nodded.

"It's not easy for me to describe my relationship with Castiel," she went on. "All things considered, we didn't know each other very well, but, at the same time, being around him… It was like I'd known him for years. When you're in someone else's head, feeling what they feel, it's hard to have any kind of privacy. He tried to shield his mind from me sometimes, but towards the end, I got more used to him. His thoughts were always difficult to understand, but his emotions were almost human."

She spoke about Castiel for some time, relieved to have someone to talk to about him, but eventually she ran out of things to say. She seemed to come back to herself, then, and looked at Sam as if she had forgotten he was there. Then she looked over at Dean. He was watching her; he'd been listening. His expression was unreadable, but certainly not happy.

He opened his mouth to say something, but someone knocked on the door.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for some vague sexual content.

_Thirteen_

Dean and Sam had spent hours trying to figure out the meaning of Chuck's prophecy about a castle made of forty-two dogs. Bobby was about to show up any minute to help them decipher it. Brooke had helped as best she could, pouring through books at a local library and calling them anytime she found something interesting. But nothing was clicking. Nothing made sense. After three hours sitting at a table in the library, she had to get up to rest her eyes. She went outside, intending to take a walk to stretch her legs.

"Brooke." Bobby's voice sounded beside her as she exited the building.

She turned, smiling, and stopped dead. There was a demon inside Bobby.

She started to run, but he snatched her by the arm, and covered her face with a cloth before she could scream.

###

When she awoke, she was tied to a chair in a dark building. Bobby stood over her, the demon still inside him. There was a cloth stuffed in her mouth, to prevent her from screaming.

Bobby squatted down so that his face was level with hers. She turned her head away, not wanting to see the face of her friend so distorted with the demon inside him. Bobby grabbed her by the chin and forced her to face him. "Sorry, girly," he said. "We know about your special power, being able to see us. We couldn't have you warning the boys."

He stood and walked away. In his place, from the shadows, two more demons appeared. They smiled horribly at her as they approached. "Who's gonna save you from us now?" one of them asked. "Your angel's _dead_."

Brooke glared daggers at them, but hot tears poured from her eyes, all the same. She closed her eyes and bowed her head, not in prayer, but in the acceptance of whatever her fate was. She knew she would not get out of this alive, and whatever death they intended for her would be slow and torturous.

The demon closest to her came nearer and pulled the cloth out of her mouth. He grinned at her, brushing a finger along her cheek. Flashes of horrible thoughts, horrible imagery, raced through her mind. She gripped the edges of the chair, trying to keep her mind in the room.

The demon suddenly stopped, and pulled the neck of her shirt away from her body. "An anti-possession charm…" he mused. "Smart." He reached down and touched the length of cord with a finger, hissing when it burned his skin. "Guess we'll just have to get creative." He pulled a knife from the sheathe in his back pocket.

She had flashbacks of that night, so long ago now. A demon cutting her cheek with a knife. Castiel appearing to save her.

He would not save her now. She closed her eyes, turning her face away, waiting for the cut of the knife, or for some other pain.

Castiel's light filled the dank room. " _NO_ ," he said, and his voice was everything. Everywhere.

Brooke opened her eyes. She saw him standing on the other side of the room, his wings spread wide, light pouring from his vessel.

The demon who had hung back from her began to pour out of his vessel's mouth. Castiel came forward and grabbed the smoke with his hand, grabbed the demon's form as it shifted and twisted and writhed in his grasp. The smoke lit up from the inside and dissipated.

Brooke smiled, tears of joy rolling down her face. She was safe now. Somehow, Castiel had returned from the dead, and he would save her. He would protect her, as he was meant to.

The second demon, the one who had been closer to her, stood behind the chair. She could not see him, but she could feel his wickedness. He grabbed her head in his hands—

—and twisted. Her neck snapped.

Everything happened so fast. Suddenly, she was hovering above her body. Suddenly, she heard Castiel scream, wordlessly, and she felt his pure and utter rage fill the room, and slice through her soul. Suddenly, there was an explosion of light and energy.

The demon—along with the human vessel—was burned to a crisp behind the chair. Somehow, Brooke's body remained untouched.

Castiel was still screaming, but the sound no longer came from his mouth. The scream filled the entire building, shook its foundations. From his body there emanated wave after wave of energy. He walked toward her body, and then his eyes lifted and he saw her, hovering above herself. He saw her soul.

He reached out and took hold of her soul, and, had she a mouth, she would have screamed. He did not mean to hurt her, but he was so full of rage that he could not control it. Fire boiled her soul as he grabbed her and shoved her painfully back into her own body.

The ropes that held her body to the chair burned away, as they had the first time he had rescued her. He cradled her broken form in his arms, kneeling on the floor. Her neck was still broken, and she opened her eyes and stared up at him from a strange angle.

The building shook all around them, pieces of concrete falling and shattering from the ceiling and walls. And still, those waves of energy pulsated from his body.

_I NEED TO SAVE YOU_ , his voice boomed in her mind, so loud and overpowering that she felt crushed by him. _SAY YES_. Somehow, through all that light and energy pouring from him in great, fiery waves, she saw his vessel's eyes glow blue-white.

She understood. _Yes_ , she thought.

From his position, kneeling on the floor, cradling her broken body, he opened his mouth and poured himself into her. It felt like breath, but it wasn't.

She felt _him_ enter her body. She felt him shift inside her, twisting like a fish through water. He writhed through her, her limbs, her bones, her organs. She felt his Grace brush against her soul, and the feeling was like white-hot fire. Yet the sensation of him inside her body was ecstasy, it was orgasmic. He touched her in certain places, healing her broken neck. He touched her head, brushing against her skull. He brushed her ribs, each internal organ, her stomach.

He was strengthening her body, the most vulnerable areas. Each area he touched, he left an infinitesimally small piece of his Grace. But she was a human; it did not take much of himself to heal her, to make her stronger. To make her harder to kill.

As he twisted inside her body, she lay there in the arms of his empty vessel, gasping. He had allowed her control of herself, at least partly. She blinked rapidly, sucking air into her lungs, as that white-hot, fiery, orgasmic sensation filled her up. They seemed to twist together, his Grace, and her soul. He had finished his work, but he remained inside her body for a time. She did not know how long he stayed with her, opening her mind in ways that would have killed her before.

Those small parts of himself, tied, now, to her life force, allowed her to see him without quite so much brightness. He was still beautiful, still achingly exquisite, but she could understand his mind, now, without feeling like she was tied to a rocket. She heard his thoughts, rushing through his mind, as well her own, and could understand the language he thought in—Enochian.

Before he left, before he returned to his own vessel, he asked her one more question.

_Yes_ , she said.

He twisted in her body one more time, and touched her at the core between her legs.

She heard herself cry out, and her body was on fire. Floating somewhere between her mind and her body, she cried out his name. He rode the wave with her, waited for her to calm, twisted himself around her soul one more time, like a cat twisting around someone's legs, then left her and returned to his vessel.

###

Brooke stood calmly in the storm that was Castiel as he beat and killed two angels. She watched Zachariah as he stood and squirmed in the face of Castiel's power and rage. Zachariah saw her, finally, and stared at her in confusion, but his gaze returned to Castiel after a moment.

"How are you…?"

"Alive?" Castiel finished for him. "That's a good question. How did these two end up on that airplane?" He gestured to Sam and Dean. "Another good question. 'Cause the angels didn't do it. I think we both know the answer, don't we?" Castiel stood before Zachariah, and his righteousness made him glow brightly, even for him. He believed that God had resurrected him. He also glowed with pride, believing that he had fulfilled his part of the prophecy pertaining to her: to protect her. And by giving part of himself to her, part of his Grace, he would, in a way, _always_ protect her.

"No," Zachariah murmured, looking away. Looking terrified. "That's not possible."

"It scares you. Well, it should. Now, put these boys back together, and _go_. I won't ask twice."

Zachariah stood and stared at Castiel for a moment, and then he vanished.

Sam and Dean picked themselves up off the floor and Castiel spoke to them for a moment. Brooke stayed where she was, still standing just as calmly.

Castiel placed his hands on the boys' chests and she saw him, his true form, reaching into their bodies to draw an Enochian sigil into their ribs, carving through bone. They grunted in pain, demanding to know what he'd done. He explained that the sigil would protect them from the eyes of angels— _all_ angels, including Lucifer.

He turned to her. "You too," he said.

She stepped back. "No. If I do, it will hide me from _you_."

Castiel moved closer to her, feeling her doubt, her fear. He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her, fiercely. "Listen to me," he said. "We are connected even more than we were before. We will _always_ find each other. Don't be afraid."

She took a breath, nodding.

Castiel placed a hand on her chest, underneath her breasts, and she felt him reach into her and carve the sigil into the bones of her ribs. She grunted at the pain of it, searing and bright, but it vanished in a moment.

Castiel turned away from her to face Sam and Dean again. Brooke looked at them. They were staring, eyes moving slowly between herself and the angel. Sam looked amazed—or, perhaps, dazed. Dean looked pissed. He looked like he wanted to say something— _Get a room_ , maybe—but Sam spoke first.

"Hey, Cass, were you really dead?"

"Yes."

"Then how are you back?" Dean asked.

Castiel stared at him without speaking, and though Brooke could not see his face, she could hear his thoughts, now much easier to understand.

_God. I have to find God. I must find a way to reach him. He can help us. Perhaps a spell of some sort. Brooke, stay with Sam and Dean._

These, and many other thoughts, overlapped in Castiel's brain, all at once, for angels could think and process much faster than a human can.

His wings spread wide and he vanished in a gust of wind. When he was gone, Brooke felt the strangest sensation, as if a rubber band were stretching tighter and tighter in her solar plexus. With a twang, that rubber-band feeling _snapped_ inside her body. She hissed in pain, and felt the angelic Grace inside her settle back down.

Dean stared at the place where Castiel had been standing, then he glared at Brooke. "Where the hell did he go?" he demanded.

Brooke shrugged. "I don't know," she said. She did not tell them that he had gone off to find God. She would not spill his secrets for him.

###

Brooke waited in the hall while Sam and Dean went in to talk to Bobby. They had known him much longer, and she knew he was like a father to them. She leaned against the wall beside the door and tilted her head back, closing her eyes. Inside her body, the Grace that Castiel had left behind to strengthen her, sang. It was a quiet sort of resonance, sometimes more of a hum, that let out a constant, steady pulse. She had noticed, standing quietly as Castiel spoke to Sam and Dean, that it had been different when he was near. It had resonated with the rest of his own Grace, harmonizing with what was in his body.

She was broken out of her thoughts when Sam and Dean exited Bobby's room. "We'll wait for you in the car," Dean called over his shoulder as he walked down the hall away from her. Sam gave her a small smile and trotted after his brother.

Brooke had a feeling that they were still weirded out about what they'd seen Castiel do to her with no reserve. She hadn't been embarrassed by the kiss at all. It had come naturally to Castiel, which had surprised her, but not embarrassed her. She'd have to ask him about it later—what had compelled him to kiss her like that.

She entered Bobby's room. He sat up in the hospital bed and his eyes twinkled when he saw her, which was about as close to a smile as she assumed she would get. She didn't recall ever having seen him smile. "Hey, Bobby," she said, sitting down in the chair beside his bed.

"Listen," he began, immediately. "What I did to you, back at the library and… tying you up like that. It wasn't me."

"I know," she said. "I can see demons, remember? I knew you were possessed the second I saw you."

"Well. All the same." He looked at her regretfully.

They sat silently for a while.

"You're gonna get better, Bobby," Brooke said.

"Damn straight I am."

She smiled, looking at her lap.

"You go on, now," he told her. "The boys are waiting for you."

"They can wait a little longer."

"No, no," he insisted. "Go on. You don't need to hang around an old fart like me in the hospital."

She shook her head, chuckling, and stood up. "I'll call and check in every day, okay?"

He scoffed. "Between you and the boys, I won't get any sleep." But his eyes were twinkling again.

She patted his shoulder and left the room.

When she got downstairs and out the door, she went to the parking space where she knew Sam and Dean had parked Baby. It was gone. She stood there, hands on her hips, and sighed. She took her cellphone out of her pocket and called Dean. He answered on the third ring. "Did you forget me?" she asked.

"Look, Sam and I… we didn't leave together," Dean said.

"Where the hell is Sam, then?"

"I don't know," he snapped.

Brooke massaged her forehead, closing her eyes. "Castiel told me to stay with the two of you."

" _Fuck_ whatever he told you. So you're his girlfriend now, you just do what he says?"

She rolled her eyes, staring at the sky, and hung up the phone.


	14. Chapter 14

_Fourteen_

Castiel had become an outcast from Heaven for his violent actions against the other angels. Because of this, he had been cut off from many of his own powers, which he had by his connection to Heaven. Brooke tried not to look upon Bobby with pity once it had been revealed to him that Castiel was not strong enough to heal him. She watched his shocked face, then turned her gaze away in despair. Castiel tried to apologize, but Bobby gave him a flippant response and turned in his wheelchair to face the window. Brooke sighed, and leaned against the wall.

Castiel turned to Sam and Dean, and finally confided in them that he was going to look for God. He believed—and Brooke could feel it in him—that God could help them.

But Dean seemed to have other ideas. "He either doesn't exist _or_ he's up and kicking, and doesn't give a rat's ass about any of us." He walked away from Castiel, then turned back to face him again. "I mean, look around you, man. The world is in the toilet. We are _literally_ at the end of days here and he's out there somewhere, drinking booze out of a coconut."

"Enough!" Castiel demanded, exasperation clear in his voice. "This is not a theological issue; it's strategic. With God's help, we _can_ win."

Dean shook his head. "It's a pipe dream, Cass."

Castiel's face became set like stone, his jaw jutting in anger. Brooke's newfound powers via his Grace allowed her to witness that anger without feeling its whip-like effects in her brain like she had before. Still, his anger was nothing to sneeze at. She found herself standing up, pulling her body off of the wall, and squaring her own shoulders in reaction to his emotion.

His voice was dangerously low as he approached Dean, getting into his face. "I killed two angels this week. My _brothers_. I'm _hunted_. I _rebelled_. And I did it—all of it—for you. And you _failed_. You and your brother _destroyed_ the world. And I lost everything—for nothing. So keep your opinions... to yourself."

The two men—one angel and one human—stood eye to eye for a moment. Dean dropped his gaze first. Brooke's own mind and body still swelled with Castiel's anger, but it subsided when Bobby spoke up, wanting to know what Cass was doing there.

It turned out, Castiel was there for an amulet that would help him find God, and—much to Brooke's surprise—the amulet was the necklace that Dean had always worn around his own neck. Castiel asked for it, none too politely, and Dean almost didn't give it to him. When he _did_ finally hand the angel his necklace, he did so with a warning: "Don't lose it."

Castiel stared at him for a second, then snatched the necklace from his hand. "I'll be in touch," he said, and Brooke could see his wings shift, to start to teleport away.

"Castiel," she said, from her place by the wall.

He turned to look at her.

She had seen the hesitation in Dean's eyes, the way he had squirmed uncomfortably without the amulet around his neck. _He means it_ , she told him, telepathically. _He'll probably never trust you again if you lose that thing_.

Castiel stared at her as if she were an idiot. _It will help me find God_ , he said. _I don't intend to lose it_.

She narrowed her eyes at him. A tension, like electricity, crackled between them. She could feel his surprise that she had sided with Dean on something. She smiled at him. _I'm still yours_ , she said.

His head turned to the side a little and he looked at her out of the corner of his eye, as if he were too shy to look her full in the face after such a statement. A very small, almost imperceptible smile lifted one corner of his mouth. His wings snapped open and he _whooshed_ away.

"When you find God, tell him to send legs!" Bobby yelled into the empty space where Castiel had been standing a second before.

Dean threw his hands up in annoyance, then he turned to look accusingly at Brooke. "What did you tell him?"

"I told him you wouldn't trust him again if he lost your precious necklace," she said, truthfully.

Dean stared at her, opened his mouth like he wanted to say something witty and biting, then shrugged and turned away.

###

Not long after that, Bobby got a call from his friend, Rufus, in Colorado. Sam, Dean, and Brooke took off to go help him fight demons in some small town called Riverpass; it seemed that nearly the entire town had been infested. When they got there, after Sam and Dean had reconnected with a woman named Ellen and she'd led them to the safe place where she was keeping the remaining civilians, Brooke elected to stay behind with them all and teach them how to use a gun. She also taught them about the protective qualities of salt, and whatever other small tidbits she could think of. Part of that was simply to distract them from their own fear.

Throughout the day, Sam, Dean, and Ellen went in and out, speaking to each other, passing news onto her, speaking to the civilians. Sam and Dean pitched in once to help her teach them how to use a gun. In all, despite the tenseness in the room-full of of people, despite the fear, it was a rather boring day for Brooke—and she noticed that. She noticed the fact that she seemed to be taking everything in stride. Even when Sam was taken by demons later on in the day, and Ellen came back alone and shaken, Brooke was relatively calm. Was it, perhaps, that she simply didn't know Sam well enough to be that affected by his being taken? She sincerely hoped that that wasn't it. She hoped to God that she had the emotional capacity to care for a man she hardly knew if that man were taken by demons—especially considering that _she_ had been kidnapped by demons twice, now.

No. It had to be something else, and she knew what it really was. Castiel's Grace, and his time spent inside her body, her brain, had affected her on a much deeper level than she had originally thought. While Cass seemed to be slowly becoming more human, more able to feel—she seemed to be less capable of feeling. She was calmer in the face of stress, less doubtful, less terrified at the thought that someone she was beginning to consider a friend had been taken by demons. The same Grace that allowed her to finally understand Castiel's mind, allowed her to stand in the face of his rage and not drop to her knees, allowed her to be in the presence of multiple angels without becoming overwhelmed… was making her less human.

Around her, Dean spoke to Ellen and to a priest who was in the room. Brooke sat in a chair across from Dean and barely heard a word that was said.

Even when Roger came into the room and made everyone think that she, Dean, and Ellen were demons, she was strangely calm. And it worried her.

###

There was a shootout that ended with multiple people dead on both sides. It turned out that War, the Horseman, had been playing the entire town against each other, making each side see demons where there were none. Eventually, Sam and Dean fixed the problem, stealing the magic ring from War's finger and stopping whatever spell he'd put on the town. But they hadn't been able to stop it fast enough to prevent casualties.

At the end of the day, Brooke watched from a distance as Sam and Dean went their separate ways. Dean, this time, had the decency to tell her about it, and that he was going to go off in the Impala and Hunt alone. Brooke nodded and told him she'd find her own way out of town. Long after Dean had left, she sat on the bench that he and Sam had been sitting on before. Eventually, the sun went down completely, and the first stars came out.

She crawled up on top of the table and lay down on top of it, splinters and all, to watch the sky. It got cold, and she got hungry, but stayed. Her phone rang two hours later, startling her awake. She flipped it open, squinting at the light, and brought it to her ear.

"Where are you?" Castiel asked.

She told him the town name and he hung up before she could get to the part about being up above the actual town, laying on top of a lone park bench on a small mountain, overlooking a valley. She waited.

He called her again ten minutes later, demanding to know _exactly_ where she was.

She told him. As she hung up the phone, she felt him appear beside her, and a rush of air sighed over her body. She was quiet. He was quiet.

Finally, he said, "What are you doing?"

"Looking at the stars."

"Where are Sam and Dean?"

"Sam and Dean have agreed to stop hunting together for now, because they're both afraid that Sam will become addicted to demon blood again. Sam went off somewhere to go be a regular human, I guess; Dean took the Impala to keep Hunting on his own. I told him I'd find my own way out of town, but then I never left."

Castiel stood quietly beside the table, his stomach near her head. "How long have you been laying here?"

"Hours."

"Why?"

"I've been trying to remind myself what emotions feel like."

Castiel said nothing, but she could feel the stab of curiosity aimed in her direction at such a strange statement. The stab did not hurt, for the Grace in her body protected her from him, but she could feel the strength of it, all the same.

 _You changed me_ , she said to him, in her mind. _Your Grace. I don't feel as deeply now, unless it's a feeling directly tied to you._

 _I did not know that would happen_ , he told her.

She sat up and put her feet on the seat below her. "Sit with me," she said.

He hesitated, but then crawled up on top of the table with her, placing his feet on the seat as she had.

"Look," she instructed, and tilted her head upwards to gaze at the stars. "You've been looking for God, right? Take a moment to admire God's creation. Look at all that." She swept her hand up and out, gesturing at the stars and planets before their eyes.

Obediently, Castiel tilted his head back and looked at the stars.

They sat, both looking up, for a time. Eventually, Brooke's neck started to hurt and she looked down again, rubbing the back of her neck with a hand.

Castiel placed a hand on her shoulder, a small glow emanating from it. Her neck stopped hurting.

She smiled. "Thanks." The combination of having been out there for hours, how dark it was, and the fact that she was suddenly warm from the touch of Castiel's healing, made her tired. She found herself nodding, and leaned instinctively against the angel sitting beside her.

Castiel stiffened awkwardly.

Sleepily, she said, "You've literally possessed my body, but you don't know what to do with yourself if I lean on your shoulder?"

He did not reply in words, though she could feel that awkward jumble of emotions emanating from him. Eventually, he seemed to settle and decide on something, resting his cheek against the top of her head. _I don't understand all of this_ , he said to her.

 _Neither do I_ , she replied, trying to reassure him.

_I don't even know how to be an angel anymore. Am I doing the right thing? Should I be helping Sam and Dean? Should I have helped you? Given you… a part of my Grace? Of myself?_

Brooke did not say anything, for she did not have an answer. She yawned so widely that her jaw cracked and closed her eyes.

###

The next thing she knew, there was pre-dawn light slowly filtering down onto the Earth. She lifted her head, not entirely sure where she was, and came face to face with Castiel, staring at her. She stifled a scream, not expecting to see him inches from her, and sat up. They were still on the table.

Castiel raised himself up on his elbows, gazing at her.

"Cass," she said, and her voice came out raspy. She coughed. "Were we out here all night?"

"Yes."

"Why didn't you wake me when I fell asleep?"

"You were very tired. It seemed cruel."

"Crueler than letting me get sick from staying out all night?"

"I kept you warm," he said. "You shouldn't get sick."

That was when she realized he wasn't wearing his trench coat. She felt its weight over own shoulders. He had used it as a blanket to cover her, and his body as her pillow.

She smiled. "You didn't have to do this."

"I think…" he began, and his voice was strangely hesitant. "If the part of my Grace inside your body is making you more like an angel, then… having been inside your body…" He stopped, as if he was unsure of how to continue.

She stared at him. "You're becoming more human."

"I believe the change only affects our emotional capacities. But—yes."

Together, they sat and absorbed this information as the sun rose.


	15. Chapter 15

_Fifteen_

The next time Brooke saw Cass, he had been gone from her for weeks, calling occasionally for mere seconds at a time, just to make sure she was alive. The second he had confirmation of that—the second she'd say hello—he'd hang up. One time she yelled his name to get him to stay longer, but he'd only stopped to explain that he was too busy looking for God to talk at the moment. After that, she'd humored him, answering the phone, telling him, "I'm alive," and hanging up.

Weeks into this routine, she'd just hung up on him after letting him know that she was alive, when he immediately called her back. She smiled, flipping her cellphone open again. "Well, he _speaks_ ," she teased.

There was silence on the other end of the line for a moment. "I—I've always… spoken," he replied.

She tried not to laugh. Forcing herself to remain calm, despite the feeling of her ribs cracking with held-in laughter, she asked, "Did you need something?"

"Yes," he said. "You."

Her face flushed, all laughter forgotten. "Uhhh, what?"

"I need your help," he told her.

She breathed easier. "Oh." Still, a small trickle of disappointment crept over her.

"Where are you? We need to get to Dean before he leaves his motel room."

She told him where she was, sitting in a car on the side of the freeway in Missouri. She told him which freeway, roughly how many miles from the last town. He appeared in her car, still holding the cellphone to his ear. He hung it up.

"Hello, Brooke," he said.

"Hi," she said.

He squinted at her, head tilted to one side. "Something's wrong with you," he observed. "What is it?"

She smiled, amused by his forward nature, as ever. "Nothing," she said. "We need to get to Dean."

Castiel reached for her and held her chin in the palm of his hand. "Tell me what's wrong," he ordered.

A thrill of need went through her body at that touch, combined with that commanding tone, the look in his eyes. All of it together made her weak in the knees, and she was grateful that she was sitting down.

Before she could even begin to say anything, he had nearly launched himself across from the passenger side of the car, over the console, and into her face. The kiss was so sudden that it wasn't even sexy at first. She had to pull away from him to laugh. "What am I, a magnet?"

Waves of something close to embarrassment floated from him. "I'm… still not used to… feeling… _things_ ," he said, not meeting her eyes. "You… confuse me, but… when you think about me that way… I feel _your_ emotions as if they're my own. I…"

"Hey, hey," she said, putting up one finger. "May I remind you that _you_ are the one who, while possessing me, asked _me_ if you could do naughty things to my nether regions."

He calmed, and those impossibly blue eyes looked up at her, serious as he had ever been. "Yes. I did." He leaned forward to kiss her again, this time a little less crazily, though still with such intensity that she inhaled sharply at the feel of him. He pulled away again all too soon, and she leaned towards him automatically.

He placed a hand on her shoulder and shook his head. "Dean," he said.

"Ugh. Don't bring Dean into this."

###

The next second, she blinked, and they were standing in a bathroom, and Dean was leaning over the sink.

Brooke jumped back, yelling, "Oh my God!" at the same time that Dean looked up into the mirror and saw them standing behind him, and yelled "God!" through gritted teeth.

" _Cass_!" Brooke spun to face the angel, who was staring between her and Dean with a look that suggested that he was completely and utterly lost. "Why would you teleport into the _bathroom_? Look, you might have a _thing_ for Dean, but I really don't need to be in here while he's in the middle of taking a piss or something."

Castiel squinted at her. "What? I-I don't…"

Brooke gave Dean an apologetic look and then sidled past him and Castiel and went into the main area of the motel room to let them talk.

She consciously tuned out Castiel's thoughts as best she could and wandered around as far from the bathroom as possible to try and give them some semblance of privacy. She knew Castiel didn't care, either way, but Dean did. And Dean would be the one pissed at her for showing up with Cass even if she explained to him that he had simply dragged her along.

The first part of their conversation that she heard was Dean saying, "Oh, so I'm your _bullet shield_?"

Castiel's voice was too low to make out words, but she could hear him murmuring.

"Why can't _she_ help you?" Dean asked, and Brooke knew he was talking about her.

More murmuring from Cass.

A moment later, they both walked into the main area of the room.

Brooke turned to face them and clapped her hands together. "All right, what're we doing?"

Castiel looked at her, and a rush of thoughts fell into her head: _Archangel Raphael. He killed me. We need information. Dean can help. We're going to Maine._

All of these thoughts, while separate, went off in her head at the same time, Castiel's voice overlapping five times with each individual sentence.

Brooke squeezed her eyes shut, massaging her forehead for a second. While Cass was becoming increasingly easy to be around and understand, sometimes being in his thoughts was still difficult for her brain. And though she could understand Enochian now, his mind still felt like some vast, wide-open area full of monks performing Mongolian throat-singing—except each one was performing a different song at the same time.

In response to the instant headache he had caused, Castiel followed up with another string of thoughts: _Sorry. Headache. I can fix that. Let me heal you._

She sucked in a breath as he placed his fingertips on her temple; her headache vanished instantly.

He turned to face Dean. "Let's go," he said. He stood in between Brooke and Dean, and reached out both hands at once, two fingers extended on both hands, to touch their foreheads.

"Whoa, whoa!" Dean protested, quickly, and yanked his head out of Castiel's reach.

Castiel drew his hand away from Dean's forehead, though the one aimed at Brooke's still hovered an inch away. Brooke couldn't help but stare at those two fingers, amused that he hadn't just dropped both his hands.

"What?" Cass demanded, and she could feel his impatience.

"Last time you zapped me someplace, I didn't poop for a _week_ ," Dean said. "We're driving."

Castiel was none too happy about this, and spent the entire time walking out the door to the car trying to persuade Dean that it would be much faster and easier just to teleport. But Dean would have none of it. Brooke's lips twitched with a smile she was trying to hide as she watched them argue. She got in the backseat of the Impala, behind the passenger seat, but left the door open so that she could hear them both continue to bicker. Finally, when Cass gave in, he hovered somewhere between the front and backseat doors.

_Get in the front, Cass_ , she told him. _It'll make it less weird for Dean_.

She felt a trickle of acknowledgement flow into her mind and he obediently sat in the front.

###

The whole drive to Maine, Brooke sat in the back, behind Castiel, and mostly zoned out. Occasionally, Dean and he would speak, and sometimes, they would include her in the conversation, but she offered little. She took the time awake, but stuck in place, to explore Castiel's mind. He felt her twists and turns through his memories, but did not object. After their experience wherein he had possessed her to save her life, there had been no secrets between them, and he no longer needed to keep the barrier up in order to shield her mind.

There was still much about the way his mind worked that confused her, that she was not able to fully grasp, but she chalked that up to him being a) an entirely different species from her and b) very, very old. Millenia old. Many of his memories were sad, or violent, and many of them were simply observations devoid of emotion. All the while she studied them, there was a constant chorus of his voice, that never-ending chant of Enochian. Heard in his true voice, it sounded almost like a church choir.

She suddenly had a thought. Latin was, obviously, a human language. But she wondered if the idea of a choir singing music in chants had come from someone, somewhere, hearing the true voice of an angel, once.

At some point, in her wanderings through his mind, she was lulled to sleep by that ever-constant presence of him so near to her, and the chant of Enochian, low and mesmerizing when it wasn't directly aimed at her. As she drifted off, she felt him reach out and caress the part of her mind that was connected to him. He felt like a warm summer breeze.

###

She agreed with Dean that, in terms of pretending to be FBI agents, three was a crowd. In her opinion, it probably should have been her and Dean doing the gig together, because he and she both knew how clueless Castiel was, but she also knew he didn't like her much. In the end, she sat and waited in the car with the windows rolled down. When Cass and Dean returned, they had more information on Raphael, and whom he was possessing.

Unfortunately, by the time they reached him, Raphael had left him, and the man's mind was broken. Now they needed a new plan.

So, off went Castiel to Jerusalem—which Brooke only knew because she was connected directly to his mind—and off she and Dean went to go find a nice, empty, squatter house to set up the trap for the Archangel. When they found the house, Dean called Castiel to give him the address so that he could find them again later. Castiel was gone for hours, and it was an uncomfortable time for Brooke, trapped with Dean, alone.

Most of the time was spent researching what they were going to do, so at least she didn't need to come up with small talk. But towards the end of their wait for Cass's return, they'd run out of things to prepare or read about. Brooke sat quietly in a busted chair, trying not to move around too much or she'd tip it over. She stared out the broken window, keeping her eyes off Dean.

"You know, I'm still trying to figure out why you're here," Dean said, suddenly.

Brooke jumped, for it had been silent for so long before then that she'd almost forgotten where she was, or that Dean was there with her.

She glanced at him, but didn't maintain eye-contact.

"I mean, why does Cass keep dragging you around?" Dean continued. "You don't do much."

Brooke smiled mirthlessly, aware that Dean was simply… being _Dean_. He could dislike her all he wanted. Mostly, she just stayed out of his way. "I am meant to Witness," she told him.

"Witness _what_?"

She explained to him the prophecy that Chuck had had about her, and her role with Castiel, and the fact that—as far as they knew—she was supposed to Witness the Apocalypse.

"But we're trying to _stop_ the Apocalypse," said Dean, sounding annoyed.

"I'm aware," she told him. "Maybe _that's_ what I'm really supposed to Witness—the prevention of the Apocalypse." Finally, she turned away from the window and looked at him. "Either way, Castiel _drags me along_ because he believes the prophecy. He believes I am meant to Witness _something_ , so he makes sure that I… _Witness_."

Dean made a face like he was trying to wrap his head around what she'd just told him, so Brooke looked back out the window.

"And what was that about him being meant to… protect you?" Dean asked, his voice low.

"We think he already fulfilled that part of the prophecy," Brooke said, with a small smile.

"What?"

But before she could explain, she felt a rush of air sweep through the house from nowhere, and looked up to see Castiel standing in the entryway of the room.

"Where have you been?" Dean asked.

"Jerusalem." Castiel walked over to the table where Brooke sat.

"Oh, how was it?" Dean asked, in a tone of voice that suggested he would have liked to have been filled on that information.

"Arid."

Brooke pursed her lips, thinking that maybe she should have told Dean where Cass had gone. But there was still a large part of her that believed that whatever Castiel _didn't_ tell anyone was information that was no business of hers to tell. Unfortunately, most of the time, Castiel didn't tell people things simply because he didn't _think_ to tell anyone. It was less to do with keeping secrets and more to do with the fact that he hadn't interacted with humans in hundreds of years.

Castiel set a jug down on the table. It wiggled precariously for a moment before settling.

"What is that?" Dean asked, staring at it.

"It's oil," the angel explained. "It's very special and very rare."

"Okay, are we gonna… trap Raphael with a nice vinaigrette?"

"No."

Dean was looking more and more exasperated by the lack of details. "So, this ritual of yours… When's it gotta go down?"

"Sunrise," said Castiel.

Dean nodded. "Tell me something—you keep saying we're gonna trap this guy, but isn't that kind of like trapping a hurricane with a butterfly net?"

"No. It's harder."

Brooke could feel something loosening in Castiel's mind, something that she hadn't noticed before. Something he hadn't been telling her. And here she'd thought they were past secrets. She stared at him, hard, demanding in her mind to know what the fuck he was trying to keep from her.

"Do we have any chance of surviving this?" Dean asked.

And that was when she knew. Castiel thought he was going die during the ritual. She stood up quickly, and the chair she'd been sitting on crashed to the ground.

Castiel spoke to Dean, but he was looking at her. " _You_ do."

There was a pause. "So, odds are, you're a dead man tomorrow," Dean said.

"Yes." He was still looking at her, but his eyes flicked momentarily to Dean.

Dean walked away, processing the information. "Oh," he said.

Brooke braced her hands on the table in front of her, trying to fight a thousand sensations at once. Fear, anger, sorrow. She was breathing heavily.

"Well," Dean exclaimed, throwing up his hands. "Last night on Earth. What, uh… what are your plans?" His voice was relatively steady, but louder, and Brooke knew he was trying to keep his cool as much as she was in the face of this information.

Castiel looked back and forth between Dean and Brooke, though when he saw the look she was giving him, he quickly averted her gaze. "I just thought I'd sit here quietly," he answered.

Dean looked at Brooke, looked back at Castiel, glanced around the room like he was missing something, and said, "Dude, come on. Anything? Hmm? Booze? _A woman_?" He glanced at Brooke, unabashedly.

Brooke turned away from the both of them. She knew Dean was hurting just as she was, but he was doing a much better job of acting like he wasn't. She closed her eyes, feeling tears coursing down her face, and folded her arms across her chest. She gritted her teeth, trying to keep her composure, but she was quickly slipping into hysteria. But Dean was still in the room. She sucked in a breath, trying to stem the tide.

From somewhere beyond her pain, she felt Castiel's sudden embarrassment.

"You _have_ been with a woman before, right?" Dean asked. "Or an angel, at least?"

Castiel was silent.

"You mean to tell me you two haven't _banged_ yet?" Dean demanded.

Brooke spun, her emotions getting the better of her. At this point it was laugh, or fall into a heap on the floor in a puddle of tears. "Wow, you _really_ have no shame, do you?" she yelled.

Dean smirked at her. "Nope."

Castiel opened his mouth like he wanted to say something, but Brooke snapped her head towards him and barked, "Shut up! You _hid_ this from me!"

Dean backed up toward the door. "Look, uhh, I'm just gonna…"

"Fine!" Brooke yelled, still glaring daggers at Castiel.

"Oh, wait, wait, wait." Dean came back into the room, swaggering, and reached into his wallet. He pulled a condom out and held it between two fingers like a cigarette, grinned, and placed it on the table. Then he left.

The second Dean was out the door, and she heard it close, she was all fire and energy. She snatched the condom off the table and said, "This? _This_ is not happening? You wanna know why?"

Castiel, who was still sitting in the chair, stared up at her with an unreadable expression, though she could sense multiple emotions from him: sorrow, regret, a little bit of fear… He had never seen her like this. He did not respond to her question.

She got up close to him, leaned over him. "Because _Jimmy Novak_ is still _in_ there," she hissed, jabbing a finger at his chest. "I don't feel like _raping_ someone tonight. It's bad enough I _kiss_ you."

Castiel simply sat, but he could not meet her gaze. She grabbed him by the chin and forced him to look at her. "What's gonna happen to _him_ when Raphael kills _you_? Hmm? Will he rip you out of Jimmy's body first, or will _he_ die, too?"

"Jimmy gave up his old life for good when he accepted me the second time," Castiel said, quietly. "He knew the risks."

" _Fuck_ you." Brooke felt something bubbling up inside her, white-hot and pure.

The angel's eyes finally flicked up to look at her.

"Oh, _good_ ," she said, breathing heavily. "You respond to curse words. Well, I've got plenty more, you fucking piece of shit. _When were you gonna tell me about this suicidal plan?_ " Still, that sensation of fire tore through her body. It filled her up, and she seemed to grow in size.

Castiel stared at her, his mouth slightly open. "Brooke, you need to calm down," he said, his voice sharp.

Her entire body shook with rage. "Don't you dare tell me… to calm down," she warned, her voice low and dangerous. Her body was aflame with some energy she had never felt before, and her vision seemed to go white.

Castiel stood up from the chair and gripped her shoulders. "Brooke, _stop_!" he commanded. "You _cannot_ use my Grace. You don't know how; it might _kill_ you!"

She finally heard him for what he was really saying, but it didn't help matters. "What are you talking about?" she asked, as her body trembled.

"Release your anger," he said, still gripping her shoulders tightly. "Let it go. You've activated the Grace in your body—my Grace, that I left behind. You are not an angel; if you use my Grace, you could die. You could _explode_."

Brooke made a conscious effort to breathe and calm herself. Slowly, the feeling of fire in her veins dissipated, and she felt normal again. She felt devastated again. Whatever had just happened—whatever seemingly superpower she had just activated—did not matter. Not now. Not if Castiel would be dead in the morning.

She could feel herself wanting to cry all over again, heartbreak winning out over anger. And now, the after-effects of the Grace singing through her made her exhausted on top of everything else. "You were _never_ going to tell me, were you?"

Castiel moved his hands up from her shoulders to her cheeks. "Listen to me," he said. "My life doesn't matter."

"You can't—

"No, _listen_!"

Brooke closed her eyes. Even though Castiel could no longer lash her mind when he spoke like that, she could still feel power emanating from him.

"It is _one_ life compared to six _billion_. This information will help us stop the Apocalypse."

"Help _us_? You'll be _dead_!"

He still held her face between his hands, though he gripped her less tightly now. His voice was gentle. "Then you, and Dean, and Sam, and Bobby… You can all stop it, together."

"You have to stay," she croaked. "You have to protect me, remember?"

He looked at her sadly. "You know I already fulfilled that—

"We don't know it for sure! What if that wasn't what Chuck was talking about?"

"If it _wasn't_ what he was talking about, if I'm still meant to protect you, then I won't die tomorrow."

Brooke stared at him, and a silver lining shimmered through the dark clouds of her thoughts. "You should have led with that," she murmured. "I wouldn't have called you a piece of shit."

He shook his head. "I should have told you the truth."

"Yes," she said. "You _should have_. And you should have told _Dean_ the truth."

Castiel closed his eyes, breathed.

"We should probably call him back in here, or… go to whatever bar he's at," Brooke mused. "If we're not gonna fuck, we might as well drink."

He squinted at her. "You _don't_ drink."

"Yeah, well, you might _die_ tomorrow. I think I'll make an exception."

"All right. But not yet."

Brooke looked at him questioningly.

"I _did_ want to sit here, quietly. With you."

Brooke closed her eyes and released a shaky breath. Tears came, once again, unbidden. She felt Castiel rub them away with his thumbs, and rest his forehead against her. "Breathe," he said.

Together, as they had twice before, they took five deep, slow breaths.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sexy times ahead. Vague-ish.

_Sixteen_

Later, they sat on the floor in the ramshackle house. Castiel had spread his trench coat out below them, like a picnic blanket. It didn't cushion them at all from the hardwood floor, but it protected them—mostly her—from splinters and whatever gross stuff was on the floor. Brooke didn't think angels could _get_ splinters.

"Sooo…" Brooke began, "I can… use angel powers now?"

"I don't think so," Castiel said. "Your emotions were what triggered it before. At most, you could do one major thing—cause an explosion, heal a wound—but I think that would be it. And then you'd be out of Grace, and it wouldn't regenerate."

"And I might kill myself in the process."

"Angel Grace is very powerful. I gave you, perhaps, one percent of all of the Grace inside myself, and it was enough to strengthen your bones and organs. As I said, I don't really know what would happen if you tried to use it. Had I been aware that you would even be able to access it at all, I don't know that I would have given it to you."

Brooke stared at him.

Castiel could hear and feel the unasked question hovering between them. "I would have resurrected you, still," he reassured her. "Giving you part of my Grace was… an optional step. The thought of you dying again, so easily…" He gazed at her, his eyes sad. "I did what I could to try and prevent that from happening again." He gave her a very small half-smile in the dark. "It was probably foolish of me, but when that demon… I didn't think; I simply acted."

Brooke shook her head. "There's a double standard here," she said.

He looked at her curiously.

"If I die, you're allowed to use your _angel powers_ to destroy everything in the entire room and then literally bring me back to life. But if _you_ die… then, nothing. I assume, with so little of your Grace, I wouldn't be able to resurrect you, and the attempt would kill me. It's bullshit."

"Agreed."

Brooke smiled in amusement. On a sudden whim, she moved closer to him. He shifted to accommodate her, but she kept going. Castiel leaned back, placing his hands behind him. She crawled up over the top of him and settled herself, facing him, on his lap, her legs on either side of his.

Castiel stared at her, and she could feel an inkling of something deep and sexual trickling from his mind.

"Hi," she said, and kissed him.

Almost automatically, he tangled one hand into her hair, supporting himself, still, with his other hand against the floor. Brooke felt his tongue, warm and wet, slip into her mouth. She was so surprised that she pulled back to look at him.

"I'm—sorry," he said.

"Oh, no," she said, voice low and sultry. "No, don't be _sorry_. I'm just surprised. You're usually so… put together. Reserved. Unless you're angry. But then, with me, if I give you an inch…" She smiled a sort of secretive smile at him. "You take a mile."

"You like it," Castiel said, in a tone that suggested he was stating simple fact.

"Well, yes," she admitted, but shook her head. "I just don't… I can never tell when you're gonna be, you know…" She dropped her voice an octave and imitated him: " _I'm an angel of the Lord_." She smirked and continued on. "Or if you're gonna suddenly make out with me. You've got a very one-track mind, but it flips constantly. You're either all business… or all pleasure."

Castiel's blue eyes twinkled as he stared at her. "As I've said before, your emotions are changing me, just as my Grace is changing you. But I'm still an angel. Even with the filter of your emotions over my mind. Angels… we're meant to follow orders. That's what we do. Especially me. I'm just a soldier. My entire job is to do whatever my superiors tell me to do. Well—it _was_ , until I rebelled." He tugged lightly at her hair as he spoke, playing with it. "Down here, now, I don't have superiors. But I still have this _need_ to follow orders. And your emotions, they burn so strongly when they're directed at me, they feel like orders. And then I feel… _compelled_ to follow them."

Brooke could feel heat rising in her body as she gazed at him, her eyes half-lidded. "So are you saying you're a bottom?" she asked, only half-joking. He gave her a confused look, so she beckoned him into her mind, allowing him to understand the term in the way that she was using it.

Castiel's eyes smoldered as understanding dawned. He shook his head slowly, staring at her. "No, you wouldn't like that," he murmured, shifting beneath her.

She gasped, feeling something hot and hard between her legs.

"I know what you like," he said. "You want me on top of you. You want _me_ to give the orders. I can _feel_ your need, I can hear your thoughts, your desires." He tugged more forcefully at her hair, and a thrill went through her body. "You need me to tell you what to do, don't you? You love to hear that _commanding_ tone in my voice."

Brooke was lost now, so completely, in his voice, that she did not know where she was. She did not know her own name. Need ached between her legs.

"You love it, just a little, when I'm angry," Castiel went on. "It makes you tremble. I can feel it when you tremble for me. I've always felt it. You're trembling _now_." His voice was so quiet, so matter-of-fact, yet it was forceful, somehow.

Brooke pulled herself back from whatever edge she'd been standing on and came back into the room. Her head, which had been held back by Castiel's grip on her hair, moved to look at him. "You'd stop if I said so, right?"

Immediately, Castiel released his hold on her hair, and his expression shifted entirely to something between concern and an utter neutrality. "Yes," he said.

Reassured, she smiled at him. Still, she was curious as to where this was going, since he knew they weren't going to have sex so long as Jimmy Novak was still alive somewhere in his body.

Hearing her thoughts, Castiel eyed her a little cheekily. "I don't need to have sex with you to fulfill that need," he said said, quietly.

She stared at him wonderingly, and then gasped as a strange feeling overcame her, like someone was pressing down between her legs, but from inside her body.

"I left parts of my Grace in multiple places in your body," Castiel explained. "Each internal organ…" He traced one finger over the spot where her heart sat in her chest. "Your ribs, skull, the bones in your neck, your spine…"

Brooke felt something brush tantalizingly at her core.

"… And there."

Brooke's eyes went wide. She swallowed. "You can make me…?"

Castiel was smiling, but it was one of those secretive smiles he gave where only his eyes changed.

Suddenly, and without preamble, Brooke cried out, loudly, gripping Castiel's shoulders with both hands. Her entire body shook, as wave after wave of pleasure spread from her core, outward. She threw her head back.

_LOOK AT ME_.

A massive wave of pleasure overtook her body, stronger than the others, at the commanding tone that filled her mind. Compelled, she pulled her head back down and stared at Castiel. He held her gaze steadily, calmly, as she rode out the last waves of pleasure.

She collapsed against him, shivering uncontrollably.

And, all at once, he was gentle to her. He held her against him, slowly running one hand up and down her back, resting his chin against the top of her head.

It took some time for Brooke to return to Earth. When she finally did, she pulled back to stare at him, trying to even think of anything to say. "What was _that_?" she demanded, finally.

He gave her another one of those smiles that wasn't really a smile. "Well. Last night on Earth…"

Suddenly, she looked down, then back up. "But you didn't even—

He raised an eyebrow. "I didn't? Are you sure?"

Her eyes widened.

"I'm an angel," he said. "If I don't need to touch _you_ to get _you_ off…" One corner of his mouth lifted. "We are beings of energy and light. Normally, I don't have a body. At least, not a physical one. I don't need a _body_ to experience pleasure."

Brooke couldn't help staring at him, and she stayed where she was, sitting over his lap. He was giving her a look she had never seen on his face before, and it was one that screamed cocky satisfaction.

A sudden thought burst through the haze of her mind. She whispered, "Jimmy…"

"Jimmy is asleep," Castiel assured her. "And he won't remember this."

Brooke took a breath, trying not to feel like a whore.

"Hey!" Castiel's voice cut through her mind. He cupped her face in one hand, shaking head head. "Don't."

Brooke pulled herself together and crawled off of Castiel's lap. "We should call Dean," she said. "See what bar he's at. Have a drink."

Castiel nodded and stood up, picking his cellphone up off the rickety table. He pressed a couple buttons and brought the phone to his ear. "Dean," he said. "N—… yes."

Brooke looked up at him quizzically. He gave her a look that brought heat to her core. She smirked. Dean had asked if they'd had sex. Of course, _technically_ , they hadn't. But Dean didn't need to know that.

"Where are you?" Castiel asked. Immediately afterwards, he hung up the phone. He turned to Brooke, who was still sitting on his spread-out trench coat on the ground, and held out his hand.

She took it and stood up. "Where we goin'?" she asked.

###

They spent some time with Dean at some strip club somewhere, drinking and enjoying themselves. She and Dean laughed a lot, especially once Brooke had gotten a few beers in her. She was the definition of a lightweight, not used to alcohol at all, and it didn't take long for her to find the world funny, despite the weight of Castiel's possible imminent death hanging over her head.

Castiel took sips of beer occasionally, but he did not laugh. Brooke had never heard him laugh, now that she thought about it. Chuckle once or twice, but not laugh. But that night, sitting with her and Dean, he smiled a lot more than she was used to, and for that, she was grateful. His smiles kept the thought of his death shoved to the back of her head, behind all the other doors she usually kept closed.

After getting partially drunk, they all went back to the abandoned house to prepare the final touches, which mostly involved running a circular line of holy oil on the floor, in case Raphael didn't show like he was supposed to tomorrow. Dean went through the door first, and Brooke found him standing beside the table. He turned, holding the unopened condom between two fingers.

He grinned. "Thought you said you had sex, Cass," he reprimanded the angel.

"We did," Castiel replied, without missing a beat.

Dean stared at him. " _Bareback_?"

Brooke closed her eyes, feeling something between annoyance and amusement. Honestly, Dean's forward nature about their sex lives didn't bother her in the slightest. When you were romantically involved with an _angel_ , everything about it felt a little surreal, and not worth hiding.

"It's… complicated," Castiel began to explain, but Dean shook his head.

"You know what? I don't want to know." He shoved the condom back into his pocket, and the three of them went about setting the trap for Raphael.

###

Minutes before sunrise, she, Dean, and Castiel stood in the hospital room where Michael's empty vessel sat in his wheelchair, drooling. Brooke stood beside Dean, clutching her hands together in front of her and trying not to have a complete mental breakdown as sunrise inched closer and closer. She rocked, slightly, back and forth, partly because she'd been up all night, and partly because every time she closed her eyes she imagined Castiel, lying dead and broken, in a thousand different ways. Her eyes felt dry and itchy from lack of sleep, and her whole body half-wanted to sink to the floor. But the other half of her was fueled by terrified adrenaline.

Castiel explained exactly how holy fire worked to Dean, though Brooke already knew, as she'd been exploring the angel's mind all night, wanting to feel just that much closer to him in case he died in a few minutes. After he finished drawing the circle around the man's wheelchair, he laid a hand on her shoulder, and a little bit of strength flowed into her. She felt slightly calmer, though her mind was still on the verge of hysteria. She was holding herself together only because Dean was in the room.

Castiel paused, though he'd been about to turn away. He sighed and leaned down to her to rest his forehead against hers. In unison, they breathed, five times, in and out, slowly. When they were done, Brooke had backed away farther from the edge of losing her mind. She jutted her jaw, set her shoulders, and allowed Castiel's Grace to fill her with a cold resolve, momentarily blocking any and all emotions she might feel for the angel.

He nodded at her, then turned to the man in the wheelchair. He leaned down and began to speak Enochian into the man's ear. Brooke was startled by the sound of it, spoken aloud and through a human voice. It sounded vastly different than the thoughts inside his head, which carried with them an ethereal quality which could not be recreated by the human voice, alone. Spoken through a vessel, Enochian came out sounding ugly—less like a church choir and more like a very angry man trying to speak a language that he only half-understood.

Castiel ended the Enochian with English: "I'm here, Raphael. Come and get me, you little bastard."

Brooke smiled at the nerve of him. He knew he was probably going to die in a few minutes, but he was not shy about it.

He lit the ring of holy oil on fire and gripped his angel blade, and they stood waiting.

###

Raphael never showed.

They stood for hours in the man's room, waiting, but nothing changed, and eventually, the holy oil burned itself out. They had not expected it to be easy, and they were prepared for what might happen should Raphael follow them back to the house. Brooke was relieved that it was over, at least for now, though she could feel Castiel's frustration as they went back to the Impala. Dean took them to a diner to eat and pee, since they'd been standing around for hours, and Castiel, who did not need to worry about sustenance or urination, sat and pouted throughout.

Under the table at the diner, she placed a hand on his knee. _At least you're still alive_.

_We talked about this. My life doesn't matter in comparison with the lives of six billion people. Raphael can tell us where God is. God can stop the Apocalypse. That's all that matters._

_Not to me_.

Castiel lowered his head in humble acknowledgement.

"Yo!" Dean said, across the table from them.

Brooke looked at him, suddenly remembering that he was even there.

"Anything you two would like to share with the class?" he asked, raising his eyebrows. "Don't go all… Vulcan mind-meld on me."

Cass looked away from Dean, but Brooke spoke. "I was reminding our angel friend, here, that he's still alive, and that that's a _good_ thing."

Castiel sighed.

"Hey, man," Dean said, "she's right."

Castiel didn't say anything, but Brooke could feel waves of annoyance coming off his body. She looked at Dean, grinning. "He's annoyed at us."

"Look, just enjoy being alive, okay?" Dean continued. "Look, you got laid last night, didn't you? We went out, we drank, it was fun. Life down here isn't all that bad, is it?"

Castiel was still annoyed. He glanced between the two of them with a look that could kill.

Brooke rolled her eyes at him. "You can glare at me all you want, Cass, but your Jedi mind tricks won't work on me anymore, remember? I'm too strong now."

Castiel turned his head completely to one side to stare at her.

"What?" she teased, when she felt all of his annoyance zero in on her. "Don't hurt yourself."

Castiel kissed her, hard, suddenly and without warning. When he pulled away from her, she was no longer in a mind to make fun of him. She gazed at him dreamily for a moment, then remembered, once again, that Dean was there. She turned to him with a giggle. "Don't get mad at me," she said. " _He_ started it."

Dean stared at the two of them like they were crazy.

"What was that for, anyway?" Brooke asked.

Castiel looked at her, and though he wasn't smiling, she could feel that same cocky self-satisfaction that she had felt the night before. "It quiets you when I do that," he explained.

She gasped at him in mock anger. "You were just trying to shut me up!"

Castiel didn't say anything, but he glanced at her out of the corner of his eye and half his mouth lifted in a smile.

Dean laughed.

###

As the three of them made their way up the walk to the house, Brooke could feel the air change, and though the presence of an Archangel no longer brought her to her knees in agony, she still had to stop for a moment to steady herself. Castiel had felt it too, and he automatically placed a hand on her shoulder to strengthen her. Dean was slightly ahead of them on the path, and Cass called his name to stop him. All three of them entered the room at the same time, Castiel stepping up in front of the other two in a protective manner.

Brooke stared at the sight before her. The man in the wheelchair from the hospital stood in the rundown kitchen, electricity arcing off of his shoulders and hitting every lightbulb in the room. Brooke could see the angel through the vessel, could see that the electricity was really coming off of his wings. Eventually, every light in the house had exploded, and the electricity stopped.

The man opened his eyes, and Brooke saw the angel's true form focus all of his attention onto Castiel. The man spoke, saying Castiel's name.

"Raphael," Cass responded.

The three of them walked farther into the room, and Brooke had to fight the urge to pull Castiel away by grabbing at the bottom of his coat. She wanted to throw herself in front of him, to scream at him to run. She had known that Raphael might follow them here, and she knew that there was a plan B if he did, but Castiel had been so sure that Raphael's presence would mean the end of his life, that she was not confident in plan B.

Dean put on a brave face. "I thought you were supposed to be impressive, but all you do is black out the room?"

Raphael stared at him. " _And_ the Eastern Seaboard," he added, and thunder crashed around the house dramatically. Lightning split the night, flashing into the room.

Raphael turned his attention to Castiel. "It is a testament to my unending mercy that I don't smite you here and now," he said. His eyes flicked to Brooke, and she squeezed her eyes shut at his mental probing. She could withstand it, now, but it was not pleasant. "You or your _whore_."

Though not aimed at her, Brooke felt the sudden stab of Castiel's anger at the insult to her. She sucked in a breath through her nose as it began pouring rain. She balled up her hands into fists to prevent herself from clutching Castiel's own hand. She didn't want him to look weak, attached to her, in front of an Archangel.

"Or maybe you're full of crap," Dean said.

Raphael turned his attention to him.

"Maybe you're afraid that God'll bring Cass back to life again and smite _you_ , you candy-ass skirt," Dean continued. "By the way, hi—I'm Dean."

"I know who you are," Raphael said. "And now thanks to Castiel, I know _where_ you are."

"You _won't_ kill him," Castiel said. "You wouldn't dare."

"But I _will_ take him to Michael."

Dean began to walk farther into the room. Brooke stared at him. "Well, that… sounds terrifying," he said. "It does. But uh, I hate to tell ya… I'm not going anywhere with _you_." He pulled a beer out of the cooler and drank some of it.

Brooke had to admire his cavalier attitude in the face of complete danger.

"Surely you remember Zachariah giving you stomach cancer," Raphael questioned.

"Yeah, that was—that was hilarious."

"Yes, well… he doesn't have anything close to _my_ imagination."

Dean stared challengingly at the Archangel. "Oh yeah?"

Raphael began to walk, moving closer to Dean. Closer, closer.

Brooke closed her eyes and zoned out, lest Raphael be warned by a stray thought. When she came back to herself, the room was lit by holy fire, and Raphael stood in its center. She breathed a sigh of relief.

"Where is he?" Castiel demanded.

"God?" Raphael asked. His voice dripped with contempt. "Didn't you hear? He's _dead_ , Castiel. Dead."

Brooke stared, looking between the Archangel and Cass. She could feel Castiel's confusion, his doubt.

"You're lying," Castiel said.

"Am I?" Raphael asked. "Do you _remember_ the twentieth century? Think the twenty-first is going any better? You think _God_ would have let any of that happen if he were alive?"

Dean spouted off some stupid quip, and Brooke closed her eyes for a moment, grateful that he was protected by the ring of holy fire surrounding Raphael.

The Archangel and Dean Winchester argued back and forth for a while, but Brooke was so on edge she was hardly able to listen. She kept imagining Raphael breaking through the line of holy fire, somehow, and killing them all. A sudden stab of rage broke through her fear, and the windows in the house shattered in a barrage of broken glass. She gasped in surprise, turning her face away, but she felt a piece of glass slice her face. Hot blood poured down her cheek.

The rain began in earnest now, roaring so loudly and so fiercely that Brooke could hardly hear herself think. It blew through the broken windows, drenching her, and Castiel and Dean.

"If God _is_ dead," Castiel demanded, raising his voice above the din of the storm, "why have I returned? Who brought me back?"

"Raphael stared at him. "Did it ever occur to you that maybe _Lucifer_ raised you?"

Castiel stood, shocked by such an idea. "No," he said.

"Think about it. He needs all the rebellious angels he can find."

Castiel didn't say anything.

"You know it adds up."

Castiel stood, lashed by the rain, and stared at Raphael for a few moments. Brooke could feel him, confused, angry, terrified.

"Let's go," he said, turning away from the Archangel. Brooke began to follow him out of the house.

" _Castiel_!" Raphael shouted.

Cass turned back to look at him.

"I'm _warning_ you. Do not leave me here. I _will_ find you."

Castiel stared at him. "Maybe one day," he said. "But today, you're _my_ little bitch." He turned and walked away.

Brooke stared after him, a thousand emotions rushing through her. She felt herself go hot between her legs. " _Damn_ ," she said.

###

Castiel had been so certain of himself, and his mission, for some time now. So confident. But now, as she sat behind him in the Impala, she could feel his doubt. Her cheek still tingled slightly from where he had healed the place where the glass had cut her, while explaining that his Grace would only protect her from life-threatening injuries.

Evidently, Dean could tell something was wrong with Cass, too. "Hey, man, you okay?" he asked.

Castiel did not speak.

Dean began to speak on what he knew of missing fathers. Thus ensued a conversation about faith, belief, listening to oneself over the doubt-ridden speeches of others. Brooke remained silent in the backseat behind Castiel, listening. After a few minutes of quiet conversation, she could feel Castiel's faith and sense of purpose begin to restore itself. She smiled.

Soon afterwards, he was gone in a rush of air.

Dean glanced at Brooke in the rear-view mirror. "Where to?" he asked.

She smiled, glad that they seemed to be on speaking terms, still. "A couple motel rooms?" she suggested. "I'm exhausted."

"Yeah. Me too."


	17. Chapter 17

_Seventeen_

One night, days after their last encounter, Castiel called Brooke. It was late at night, and she'd been slowly drifting off when the ring startled her. She flipped it open without looking at who it was, murmuring a groggy, "Hello?"

"Where are you?" Castiel demanded.

"We're not about to go off on adventure, are we?" she asked, a definite whine in her voice.

She heard Castiel sigh. "No, I just… wanted to see you."

"Well, you're welcome to come creepily stand over my bed and stare at me while I sleep," she said, grinning, and gave him the address to her motel room.

He appeared in the room a moment later, hanging up his phone and putting it back into his coat pocket. He came nearer to the bed. "You told me _not_ to watch you while you slept," he said, sounding confused.

She smiled up at him from the bed. "Yeah, I did. But you know. Once you've made a girl orgasm with the power of your mind, I don't think the girl's gonna care if you watch her while she sleeps."

Castiel looked down, smiling.

Brooke studied him for a moment. "Did you really come here just to see me at… midnight?"

"I…" he began. "I called Dean, but he told me he needed to sleep."

"Ah," she said. "So I'm your backup plan?"

"I would have come to get you before I'd gone off with Dean," Castiel said, his voice the embodiment of seriousness.

She smiled again and shook her head. "I know, I'm teasing you. Come to bed." She patted the empty side of the bed.

Castiel hesitated.

Brooke squinted at him. "We're not gonna fuck," she said. "I'm still going to sleep. But you might be more comfortable laying down."

"No, it's…" Castiel began to slowly take off his coat. "Humans undress before getting into bed, and I've never… done that."

Brooke stared at him, and then laughed. "You're not _shy_?"

Castiel began to pull at his tie, having hung the coat over the back of a chair. "Not—exactly. But it's a strange feeling, even now, having a body. I don't eat, I don't sleep, I don't shower. I don't need to. I don't ever change my clothes because I don't need to do that, either. So, taking them _off_ feels… strange."

"Cass… if it makes you uncomfortable, then _don't_."

He stopped in his movements, and Brooke had the strangest thought that, with one finger still hooked in his tie, it looked like he was trying to hang himself. She snorted with amusement, and then turned on the lamp sitting on the nightstand. Her vision went white, momentarily, as her pupils adjusted, and when she looked at Cass again, his head was tilted to one side, wondering what she was doing.

She got up out of the bed and went to him, gently undoing his tie. "You've got to be more careful with this tie," she said. "It's the only one you've got."

"I don't like them," Castiel stated, his voice strangely sullen, like an angry teenager.

"I can tell. Yours is always loosened at the throat." She slipped it off of his neck and hung it over the back of the chair, on top of the trench coat. "Your suit's always messed up, too. You never button the jacket." She moved behind him and pulled the suit jacket off of his shoulders. He shimmied his arms out of it, helping. She folded the jacket and hung it over the chair, then walked around him to face him again. "There," she said. "Good enough. Now your shoes, and after that, you can lay on the bed."

Castiel stared at her for a moment, and reached up to brush his fingertips across her cheek. She smiled. There was a charge in the air; they both felt it. "I'm _sleeping_ ," she reminded him.

He said nothing, but allowed his fingers to stay where they were for a moment, before dropping his arm and moving to the bed. He sat on the edge of it and placed one foot behind the other, against the heel of one shoe, like he was about to kick it off.

"Don't fuck up those shoes!" Brooke warned.

Castiel stopped, went still, then looked up at her. There was some kind of challenge in his gaze.

She put her hands on her hips. "Those are _expensive_ shoes," she reprimanded. "I know _you_ don't care, but _I_ do. You break those shoes, none of us has enough money to buy new ones, and I'm not gonna waste the money from a stolen credit card on nice, expensive dress shoes for you just because you were careless with the ones you had."

Castiel continued to stare at her. His eyes narrowed.

Brooke spun around and riffled through the clothes on the back of the chair. She turned again to face Castiel, brandishing his tie. "You take those shoes off correctly or I'm gonna whip you with your stupid tie!" she exclaimed, but she was laughing.

One of Castiel's eyebrows rose. "It wouldn't do any damage," he said.

Brooke stood there and put her hands back on her hips, staring at him.

Slowly, he bent down and began to—gently—pull the shoes off his feet.

"There," she said. "That's what I _thought_." She tossed the tie onto the back of the chair.

Castiel said nothing. He removed his shoes, carefully, and placed them on the ground at the end of the bed. Something in his mind was slowly trickling into hers, but she couldn't tell what he was thinking yet. He was hiding something from her. But she could feel… amusement.

He stood up and went to her, slowly. When he was already close enough, he kept going, until their bodies were almost touching. He looked down at her, and she could feel breath on her face. She was reminded of her first meetings with him, back when he still intimidated the shit out of her, back when he could still snap a command at her and cause her mind to go to white. She swallowed.

She heard the sound of him removing the belt from his pants. He continued to stare at her as he removed it, his eyes very blue, and very focused on her face. He folded the belt over once and held it up for her to see. "A belt," he said, very softly, "would be a much more effective tool to whip me with, if you were going to do it."

Feeling dizzy, but trying not to show it, she said, "I'm not really into BDSM." Realizing he probably didn't know what that meant, she allowed a trickle of information to flow into his mind.

He stared at her, then dropped the belt onto the chair.

She jumped at the noise. "You—you know I was joking about that, right?"

Castiel flipped a switch in his demeanor, bringing a hand up to softly touch her face. His eyes, so laser-focused a moment before, went soft. "Yes," he said. "Perhaps I… leaned into it too much."

She stared at him. "That was you _joking_?"

He glanced away, as if embarrassed.

She narrowed her eyes at him. "I get the feeling not _all_ of that was a joke."

Castiel looked at her, then looked away again. She could feel him struggling to find the right words. "You were… being a top," he said.

"What?"

"A top," he repeated. "You explained to me, that night, the difference between a top and a bottom."

"Yeeeess," she said, dragging the word out, wondering where he was going with this.

"You were… being a top, so I was… letting you," he finished.

She stared at him for a few seconds, then burst out laughing. "No, see, if you were really gonna let me be a top, you wouldn't have fought it so hard. You would have just done what I said, without giving me attitude."

He looked at her, cupping her chin in his hand. "You give _me_ attitude."

"Yeah, well, you love it."

"And you don't love it when I give it back?" he asked, lowering his head to look her straight in the eye.

She opened her mouth, with every intent to say, _I love it_ , and what came out instead was:

"I love you."

Immediately, she realized her mistake, but it was too late to retract the statement now, and it was no use doing so, anyways. Castiel knew her mind, her heart. She had never said the words before, but he must have known long before now that she loved him. Telling him in this way, right after such a sexually charged situation, was not exactly ideal, but the words were out in the open now, and she suddenly felt as if a weight had lifted off of her chest.

Castiel had stilled completely in that strange sort of way that only he could. He had stopped breathing. He stood, still as a statue, and gazed at her.

Feeling at once as though a weight had been lifted, and another one was coming crashing down on top of her, Brooke's mind began to spin out of control. Terrified, she thought, _Say something!_

Castiel cupped her face in his hands, and placed his forehead against her, as they did when they were breathing together, to calm down. "I love you," he said.

She had known it for a long time, had felt it in every thought, in every look. But it was different to hear him say it, out loud. She had never thought that this moment would sit so heavily in the air when it happened. She had assumed that being constantly emotionally and mentally attached to someone would make a moment like this somewhat meaningless. She had been wrong.

She could feel his own emotions stirring, his mind spinning. Much of what came from him was confusion. Confusion about how he, an angel, had fallen in love with a human. Confusion about how it had all come to this. He had one led his own garrisons of angels; he had fought beats on Earth which were now extinct; he had watched the rise and fall of Sodom and Gomorrah. Never, in his existence, had he fallen in love—at least not in the ways humans loved. He had known brotherly love for the angels he served with. He knew the love he had for his Father. He had, once or twice, known something close to what he felt now with an angel or two. But he had never dived so deep. He had never had the opportunity, had never been given permission to feel as intensely as he felt now, had never been given permission to do something other than to follow orders. He had never had _time_ for love. Had never had time to _think_ about love.

"Stop," Brooke said, holding her head in one hand. "Too many thoughts."

Castiel stilled his mind as best he could. He bent down and scooped Brooke up into his arms, carrying her to the bed and laying her down gently. He crawled in beside her, his eyes never leaving her face. He propped himself up on an elbow and gazed down at her, his free hand brushing stray hair out of her eyes, lazily trailing across her forehead, picking up and gently tugging at strands of her hair.

Slowly, she began to grow tired, though she fought to stay awake.

"Sleep," he said, his voice soft. "I'll wake you when it's time."

Before he had even finished speaking, she was asleep.


	18. Chapter 18

_Eighteen_

Things between Brooke and Castiel had been, in all honesty, much the same as they had always been since they had professed their love for each other. When you were trying to stop the Apocalypse, things like date nights fell by the wayside. Besides, even without an Apocalypse to stop, Castiel was an angel, with an angel's mind, an angel's ideas of what it meant to be in love with someone. Brooke considered it a blessing that nothing had been made awkward, and took his romantic gestures when he gave them, things he had done from the start, though they now held different meaning. A look, a small touch, a secret thought aimed her way; more of those fierce kisses—Castiel did not know how to give gentle ones. The only difference, perhaps, was that he did all of these things more freely, and there was less hesitance in his movements. She was appreciative of it all.

###

Their meeting with Dean, days ago, had gone well enough, though it had not ended the way she or Castiel had imagined. He had told them about Zachariah, sending him years into the future to experience a world destroyed by the Apocalypse. A warning of what was to come if Dean continued to refuse Michael about using his body as a vessel.

Brooke had listened quietly, only stirring at the mention of Castiel becoming some kind of strange, drugged out, hippie.

"Where was I?" she had asked, at that point.

Dean looked at her, then looked away. "You, uh… You were…"

Brooke nodded, suddenly understanding why Castiel had resorted to drugs and orgies with women. "Dead," she said.

Castiel's heart had twinged when she'd said it, and he had turned to look at her with that intense gaze he always had.

"Yeah, well," said Dean. "That's not gonna happen."

###

Days had passed since that meeting, during which, they'd all gone their separate ways. Castiel was still searching for God, or some other way to stop the Apocalypse; Dean had reconnected with Sam; and Brooke had gone off, hunting, on her own—

—Brooke grunted as the vampire slammed her up against the wall. He had one hand closed around her neck, trying to crush her windpipe, but Castiel's Grace was doing its job, protecting the vital parts of her body.

Brooke grabbed at his hand, slowly, slowly prying it off of her neck. "I thought—vampires—preferred _fresh_ blood," she growled.

"Oh, I'm not gonna drink your nasty, tainted blood, little girl," the vampire snarled, getting up in her face.

Brooke didn't have time to be confused by that comment. She elbowed the vampire in the face and sent it stumbling backwards.

From inside her Jeans pocket, her cellphone rang.

The vampire came towards her again.

_Please be Cass, please be Cass_ , she prayed, and quickly flipped the cellphone up and pressed the green button.

The vampire lunged for her again. She had not come prepared for a vampire—expecting the monster to be something else that didn't need to have its head cut off. It had been a stupid mistake not to be prepared for anything, but she tended to travel lightly as it was. There was a machete in her trunk but, obviously, she couldn't reach it _now_.

She threw the cellphone away from her, yelling the address of the abandoned house she was in as she stabbed a knife, uselessly, into the vampire's chest. It screamed at her, but wasn't too fussed, otherwise.

Castiel appeared in the room, standing behind the vampire.

"KILL IT!" she yelled.

Castiel gave a strange, animalistic roar she had never heard before and grabbed the vampire from behind. It struggled, trying to reach behind it to claw at the angel's face, but to no avail. Castiel slammed the creature into the ground, face-first and then knelt on its back. He grabbed it by the head and began to _pull_.

Brooke stared. He was going to _rip its head off_.

Castiel strained, the muscles in his neck popping, screaming in rage—or maybe just effort. Brooke didn't doubt that he could do it, but she had a feeling it would take a stupid amount of time. "Keep it there!" she said, and ran outside, to her car. She grabbed the machete out of the trunk and sprinted back into the house. Castiel was still kneeling on the vampire's back, its head in both of his hands. He looked up at her, but his gaze was far away. He was lost somewhere in his bloodlust.

Brooke commanded, "Grab his hair!"

The vampire snarled and struggled as Castiel adjusted his grip on its head, yanking it back by the hair. The vampire bucked and twisted, trying to get the angel off of him, all to no avail.

Brooke swung the machete. Blood sprayed her legs and boots. The vampire's body slumped to the floor.

Castiel held its severed head by the hair. He was panting. He dropped the head on the ground and stood up, eyeing Brooke.

Brooke stared back at him, also panting. She wiped the blood off of the blade onto her Jeans. "Thanks," she said.

He came towards her, almost stumbling, grabbed her face in his hands, and kissed her. "Don't. Die," he said, afterwards.

"Right," she said, a little breathlessly.

Castiel pulled her into a hug.

Which was new.

They'd had lots of other physical interactions, but he had never just flat-out hugged her before. She could feel his chin rest on the top her head. He was very warm, which probably would have been comforting if she weren't still adrenaline-fueled, and covered in sweat and blood.

Castiel seemed to take a steadying breath after holding her for a moment, then pulled back to look her over. "Are you injured anywhere?" he demanded.

"No." She touched her throat. "He tried to choke me, but your Grace did its job."

"Good."

Brooke was finally calm enough to really see him. "Your face is covered in blood," she stated, flatly. She blinked and he was suddenly clean. "Oh. Never mind."

"I cleaned you off, too. Now, let's go. Sam and Dean found something important."

Brooke went and picked up her phone off the ground, shoving it back into her pocket, then placed her hand on top of Castiel's shoulder. "Okay."

###

Sam and Dean walked into their motel room, and looked up to see Brooke and Castiel standing there.

"I take it you got our message," Sam said.

Cass nodded. "It's lucky you found the boy."

"Oh yeah, real lucky," Dean said, sarcastically. "What do we do with him?"

"Kill him."

Brooke, who had been calmly standing beside Castiel throughout this exchange, turned her head to stare at him. "I'm sorry, _what_?" she demanded.

" _Cass_ ," Dean said, sounding as if he only half-believed that the angel was being serious.

"This child is half-demon and half-human," Castiel explained, "but it's far more powerful than either." He stepped closer to where Sam and Dean were sitting at the table. "Other cultures call this hybrid _Cambion_ or _Katako_. You know him as the Antichrist."

The _Antichrist_.

Castiel sat down—directly onto a whoopee cushion.

Brooke closed her eyes and sighed, rubbing her forehead. At any other time, she would have found Dean's prank—because she knew it had to be Dean—humorous. But the timing was off.

Castiel pulled the whoopee cushion out from under him. "That wasn't me," he stated, staring at the thing as if it were some kind of magical object.

Dean, trying to hold in a laugh, asked, "Who put _that_ there?"

Brooke rolled her eyes up to the ceiling, fighting the urge to throw something at Dean.

"Anyway," Sam began, pulling everyone back into the conversation about the Antichrist. "I don't get it. Jesse is the Devil's son?"

Castiel sighed, and Brooke could feel his annoyance. "No, of course not. Your Bible gets more wrong than it does right. The Antichrist is _not_ Lucifer's child; it's just demon spawn. But it _is_ one of the Devil's greatest weapons in the war against Heaven."

"Well, if Jesse's a demonic howitzer, then what the hell's he doin' in Nebraska?" Dean asked.

"The demons lost him," Castiel said. "They can't find him. But they're looking."

Dean raised his eyebrows. "And they lost him because…?"

"Because of the child's power. It hides him from both angels _and_ demons. For now."

They continued speaking back and forth for a time, and Castiel became more and more animated, which for him, was saying something. She could feel agitation rising in him. Agitation… and fear. He was truly terrified of Jesse's power, and the ways in which Lucifer might twist the boy and use his powers to destroy the Host of Heaven.

Sam stood up. "We're the good guys," he said, pointing at himself, at Dean. He glanced at Brooke. "We don't just _kill_ children."

Castiel stood up, too, and placed his hands on top of the table, leaning in to look Sam in the eyes. "A year ago," he said, his voice low, "you would have done _whatever it took_ to win this war."

Brooke stared at Castiel, at this angel that she knew so well, and saw, for the first time in a long time, a stranger in his stead. Slowly, she moved around the table and went to stand beside Sam and Dean, folding her arms over her chest.

"Things _change_ ," Sam snapped, glaring at Castiel.

Castiel stared at Sam, then his eyes flicked to Brooke.

Brooke shook her head at him. He wasn't going to get any support from her—not about this. She didn't care how scared he was of Jesse. Jesse was a _child_.

Castiel stared openly at her, now, and he felt betrayed.

You _feel betrayed_ , she thought. _I'm not the one who wants to_ murder _a_ child.

"Okay, hey, look." Dean stepped in between Sam and Brooke, putting his body in front of Sam's. "We are _not_ going to _kill_ him, all right? But we can't leave Jesse here, either. We know that. So… we take him to Bobby's. He'll know what to do."

Castiel stared at Dean. "You'll kidnap him?"

Brooke scoffed. "You have no qualms about _murdering_ him, but you have a problem with _kidnapping_ him?"

Castiel turned to look at her and his gaze suggested that he thought she was an idiot. "What's going on in this town—it's what happens when this thing is _happy_. You _cannot_ imagine what it will do if it's _angry_. Besides, how will you hold him? With a thought, he could be halfway around the world."

Dean looked conflicted now. He'd run out of ideas. "So we…" he began, but could think of nothing.

"So we tell him the truth," Sam interjected. He looked at Cass. "You say Jesse's destined to go dark side—fine. But he _hasn't_ yet. So if we lay it all out for him—what he is, the Apocalypse, everything—he might make the right choice."

Castiel's mind went white with rage, and contempt.

Brooke, who had long since been able to withstand his sudden anger, brought a hand to her head as it washed through her mind. Months before, she would have been on the ground.

Castiel leaned forward slowly, bringing his face close to Sam's. " _You_ didn't," he growled. "And _I_ can't take that chance."

The angel's wings snapped open. He stared at Brooke, a silent question in his mind. _Are you coming with me, or not?_

Brooke narrowed her eyes at him. _Fuck off_.

Castiel's nostrils flared as he breathed sharply at her retort. He stared at her for a moment, his eyes aflame, then he vanished, snapping his wings in her direction as he teleported away so that a sharp wind slapped her in the face, billowing her hair out behind her.

"Cass, god _damn_ it," she ground out, through clenched teeth. She turned to the boys. "We gotta go _now_."

###

They raced for Jesse's house as quickly as possible, but by the time they scrambled out of the Impala and up the steps, Brooke could feel Castiel inside. _CASS!_ she screamed at him, worming her way into his mind and digging in deep. _DON'T._

Suddenly, he slammed the barrier up over his mind, something he hadn't done in months, not since before he had given her part of his Grace. She screamed when he did it, for being cut off from his mind like that, now, felt like he'd just cut off an arm or a leg. Her mind spun, snapping back from his like a rubber band stretched too far. Blindly, for her vision was full of white spots, she got up off the pavement where she had fallen to her knees and scrambled inside after Sam and Dean. Her mind may have been separated from his, but she still had his Grace inside her body, and it always sung in her blood and bones when he was near—Grace to Grace.

Sam and Dean were already inside, and she raced after them. She shoved past the boys, terrified at what she thought she might see. But there stood Jesse, looking terrified, but unharmed. Castiel had vanished. Brooke breathed heavily, clutching her chest with one hand. _Thank God_.

After a moment, however, she realized that the Grace in her blood still sang, thrumming through her veins. Castiel was here, but… invisible?

"Where is he?" Brooke asked, though she wasn't really talking to the boy. She glanced around the room, afraid that the angel would jump out of the shadows somewhere and grab Jesse.

She glanced at the boy, and saw him looking at something on the ground.

Dean leaned down and picked it up. Brooke saw what it was and thought she might faint. In his hand, Dean held what looked like a toy—a figurine—of Castiel. The tiny plastic hand held up a tiny angel blade, as if about to stab someone.

"Oh fuck," Brooked murmured.

###

Brooke sat very still and very quietly as Dean tried to talk to the boy, Jesse. She attempted to keep her eyes down, though they kept flicking up to look at the plastic figurine that Dean had settle on the mantlepiece. Castiel was trapped inside it. She could feel his Grace emanating from it. Although she did not want to kill the boy, some part of her wanted to throttle him, to shake him—hard—and _demand_ that he bring Castiel back. But Dean was acting like none of them were friends with Castiel, and she had to go along with the lie or risk the boy's wrath.

She had not been paying any attention to what was going on, so she screamed bloody murder when she was picked up and thrown against the wall like a rag doll. Sam and Dean were in a similar bind.

A woman walked through the door, clearly possessed by a demon. "They're lying to you," she said to Jesse.

Brooke had no idea what Dean had been possibly lying about because she'd been too busy freaking out about the fact that Cass was plastic toy sitting on the mantlepiece. She wished, now, that she'd been paying better attention.

The demon was saying something about the fact that she had been ordered not to hurt Sam. She turned to Dean. "But you, on the other hand? Hurting you's encouraged." With a flick of her fingers, Dean was flying from wall to wall, slamming face-first into one, and skull-first into the other.

Brooke struggled against the invisible binding holding her to the wall, hoping that, somehow, Castiel's Grace would give her the strength necessary, but it was useless.

"Leave him alone!" Jesse cried, glaring at the demon.

She looked at the boy. "Jesse, you're beautiful," she crooned, bending down to look at him. "You have your father's eyes."

_Think I'm gonna be sick_ , Brooke thought, disgustedly. She could see the demon through the poor human woman that was being possessed. She could see that awful, twisted face, grinning like something out of a nightmare at the boy.

"Who are you?" Jesse asked.

"I'm your mother," said the demon.

_Shit_ , thought Brooke.

Jesse shook his head. "No you're not."

"Mm-hmm. You're half-human, half one of us." The demon spread her arms, gesturing at herself.

"She means _demons_ ," Dean growled, struggling to speak through the binding.

The black-eyed woman glared up at him, flicking her fingers again. His mouth was forced closed, his head slammed back into the wall again.

Brooke stayed quiet, trying to avoid the worst of the pain, trying desperately to think of something to say to get the boy to listen to her. To not go dark side.

The demon bent down and stared Jesse in the eyes, telling him all about how his fake, human parents didn't really love him, how they left him alone all day, how they lied to him all the time. "They made your whole life a lie," she said. "Look into your heart, Jesse. You've always known you weren't there's; you've always known you were different. _Everyone_ has lied to you."

She went on and on, endlessly mesmerizing this child, telling him that he was powerful, that he should be angry at his parents, at all the people who had lied to him.

And suddenly, Brooke looked down at Jesse from her spot bound to the wall—and saw his true form. A form that had previously been hidden from her, for until now, he had thought he was simply a boy. And that thought had hidden his form. Now, with the truth buzzing in his brain, and his anger rising, Brooke saw the part of him that was demonic. And now, she could _feel_ him. And he felt much stronger than anything she had felt before. Stronger, even, than the oppressive and terrifying presence of Michael, an Archangel. Or of Raphael. Her mind was screaming, scrabbling away from the power that this child wielded. She knew that only Castiel's Grace, flowing through her, prevented her from passing out, or losing her mind. Still, she could hardly look at the boy, now.

And, for the first time that day, Castiel's insane urge to kill Jesse made sense.

The house was shaking, pictures falling to the floor, cracks appearing in the walls. The roof creaked ominously. Lights flickered and exploded. There was a fire in the fireplace where there hadn't been before.

Brooke closed her eyes but she could not prevent herself from _sensing_ the boy. In circumstances past, she would have prayed to Castiel, for he was realer to her than any god. But Castiel was currently sitting atop the mantlepiece as a tiny plastic toy—useless. Brooke reached into the recesses of her mind, as Sam and Dean began to try and reason with the boy. She was searching for something. A prayer:

_Our Father who are in Heaven,_

_Hallowed be thy name._

_Your kingdom come, your will be done_

_On Earth as it is Heaven._

_Give us this our daily bread,_

_And forgive us our debts,_

_As we also have forgiven our debtors._

_And lead us not into temptation,_

**_But deliver us from evil._ **

The shaking stopped, some of the lights came back on in the house, and the oppressive force clouding Brooke's mind dissipated. Sam was allowed down from the wall, Jesse overriding whatever power the demon inside the woman had. As they spoke, Brooke, who was still bound, started the prayer again.

As she began to think it, she heard a second voice joins hers. It was Castiel, who somehow, was still able to think while being trapped inside a plastic toy. Together, their voices became a chorus, although his voice drowned hers out, as his voice was that of an angel's, and she heard all of his many voices chant, all at once:

_Our Father who are in Heaven,_

_Hallowed be thy name._

_Your kingdom come, your will be done_

_On Earth as it is Heaven._

_Give us this our daily bread,_

_And forgive us our debts,_

_As we also have forgiven our debtors._

_And lead us not into temptation,_

**_But deliver us from evil._ **

Brooke fell, sliding down the wall, as the demon was forced out of the woman's body by an angry Jesse. She breathed heavily, still afraid of the boy, but she had to take it as a good sign that he had chosen to get rid of the demon and not her or Sam and Dean.

"How did you do that?" Dean asked Jesse.

He shrugged. "I just did."

Dean leaned his head against the wall, catching his breath and making a pained face from having been bound to the wall for the last five minutes. "Kid… you're awesome."

###

Jesse was saying goodbye to his parents, upstairs. Castiel was still a plastic toy on the mantlepiece. When the boy had been up there for a few minutes too long, Sam and Dean went up to check on him. Brooke turned away from the fireplace for just a moment, unable to stand looking at that stupid plastic figurine—

A rush of air went past her. She turned, and there stood Castiel. The real Castiel.

"Thank God," Brooke said.

###

The boy was gone—gone somewhere that no one could find him unless he wanted to be found. Sam and Dean left the house in the Impala. Castiel checked on the woman who'd been possessed by the demon—Jesses's real mother—one last time.

"She'll be fine," he assured Brooke, after touching the woman on the forehead. "She just needs rest."

Brooke nodded, shivering, and stood in front of the fireplace, which had gone cold some time ago.

No one spoke for a few minutes, though it felt like hours, the silence dragging on.

"I understand now," Brooke said, finally breaking the wall of ice that she could feel forming between them. "I understand why you thought you needed to kill him. I could feel his power, earlier. If I hadn't been protected by your Grace, even being in the same room as him might have killed me."

Castiel said nothing.

Brooke bowed her head, feeling tears coming. "But I still hate you for it," she whispered.

She felt Castiel's mind recoil from her at the words.

"He's a _little boy_ , Castiel," she continued, the tears falling freely now. "And you were going to kill him in cold blood."

Castiel said nothing.

"It took three humans to talk him down, to convince him to be good—to not go dark side."

"We don't know what he'll do now," Castiel argued, though his voice was quiet. "Now that he is beyond our reach, he could do whatever he wants with his power."

Brooke spun to face him, and her tears turned to rage. She grabbed the angel by his coat collar. "ARE YOU STILL SO _HELL-BENT_ ON DESTROYING A _CHILD_?" she screamed, and she could feel Castiel's Grace building up inside her, threatening to explode. In the chair beside the fireplace, Jesse's mother remained asleep, by whatever spell Castiel had set over the household, which had affected her after the demon had left her body.

He stared at Brooke, and although his face showed some alarm, he remained calm when confronted with her wrath. "No," he said. "I won't look for the boy again."

Brooke, still gripping Castiel's coat, hissed, "You're only leaving him be because you're afraid he'll turn you into a plaything again. You would kill him if you knew you could."

Castiel said nothing.

"We're supposed to be _better_ than the monsters we hunt," she said, panting. "To you, that child is no different from the vampire you saved me from this morning. But he _is_ different. He's half-human. He thinks, he feels, he _loves_. And you were going to _stab him to death_." The Grace in her blood sang higher and boiled hotter. Her vision had gone white. "You make me _sick_. You and your righteous missions, thinking that you're on the right path and ignoring everything and everyone that is screaming at you to turn around."

Castiel stood there, still as a statue. "You're going to kill yourself," he said. "You need to calm down."

Brooke was half-wild now. Half feral. "If I kill myself while killing you, then so be it," she snarled. "I will have gone down doing what Hunters do best: killing _monsters_."

Castiel vanished. Brooke stood there, gripping nothing but air. _You fucking coward_ , she thought, and then collapsed.


	19. Chapter 19

_Nineteen_

Bobby answered the call on the second ring.

"Hey, Bobby," Brooke said. "How you doin'?"

"I wish people would stop askin' me that," Bobby muttered. "I'm _fine_. How are _you_?"

She grinned. "I am on my way to your house—about a day's drive."

"Listen, I don't need anyone to come up and take care of me. Haven't you got some hunting to do? An angel to see?"

"The angel tried to murder a child three days ago," Brooke snapped. "We haven't spoken since."

There was a pause on the other end of the line. "You talkin' about that Jesse kid? The Antichrist?"

"How did you—

"Dean called. Look, you know me. I'm not a person you want to talk about your feelings with. Whatever your problem with the angel is, it's between you and him."

Brooke smiled again. "Who said anything about talking about our feelings? I was gonna come up there and cook you some food and kick your ass in a coupla poker games, maybe."

Bobby released a long sigh. "Fine," he relented.

"Great! See ya in a day or so!" Brooke hung up the phone.

###

The break at Bobby's had been what she needed to clear her head. She'd done some shopping once she'd gotten there and cooked them both a big pot roast. It was far too much food, but then he'd have leftovers for the next couple days. Brooke never mentioned his legs or the wheelchair, and Bobby never brought it up. He never smiled, either, though she knew he was grateful for the company.

Somewhere on a wall in his house, she'd found a dart board that she had never noticed before. She took it down from the wall and brought it to Bobby. "Where are the darts for this thing?"

He looked at it and scoffed. "I got no clue," he said. "Look around in one of the drawers near wherever you found it, I guess."

She went back to the room where she'd found it and shuffled around in his living room drawers, pushing past all the pictures of his wife, hidden away. Ten minutes later, she came back to him in the library, clutching a bunch of darts. Without saying anything to him, she set the darts down on a table and ran to the kitchen.

"What are you doin'?" he called after her. "You know I can't play!"

With a smile, she came back with a nail and hammer.

"Girl," he began, "you put a hole in my wall—

"I will personally cover and repaint the nail hole in your wall, you whiner!"

A few minutes later, they were playing a game of darts, both sitting down in chairs. She'd nailed the dart board to the wall, at Bobby's level. She won the first game, but he won the second. Around the fourth game, they realized they were too evenly matched, and gave up the game, but Bobby was as close to smiling as she'd possibly ever seen him.

###

Brooke woke the next morning, wrapped in a blanket on the couch in the living room. Her phone was ringing. Blearily, she flipped it open. "Brooke Harris," she said, her voice cracking.

"Brooke," Castiel said.

She sat up, holding back some kind of biting remark, like calling him a child murderer. "Castiel," she said.

There was a deafening silence on the other end of the line.

"Did you need something?" she asked, finally.

"Where are you?"

She closed her eyes and brought her fingers up to her forehead, trying to decide whether or not she wanted to tell him she was at Bobby's. "I'm about to have breakfast," she said, avoiding the question.

More silence.

"Is there an actual reason you called? Did Sam and Dean need help or something?"

"No," Castiel said, and hung up.

Brooke sighed and stood up, stretching. She went to the kitchen and started to fry some eggs in a pan. Bobby rolled into the kitchen a few minutes later.

They had just finished breakfast when her phone rang again. She flipped the phone open and saw that it was the same phone number as before. She closed her eyes.

"Bobby," she said.

"Mm?"

"Castiel wants to know where I am…"

He looked at her. "And?"

"And if I tell him, he's gonna randomly appear in the kitchen in three seconds."

Bobby rolled his eyes and began to push his way out of the kitchen. "You two better figure your shit out."

Brooke finally picked up the phone. "What?" she said.

"I have roses and chocolate," Castiel said, speaking quickly, as if afraid she would hang up. "I tried to buy you a puppy but they wanted me to fill out paperwork."

Brooke stared at the wall, trying to put it all together. "What?" she said again, this time in a more curious tone, as opposed to annoyed.

"I… I called Dean," Castiel said, as if that explained everything.

Brooke nodded slowly to herself, her eyes rolling up to the ceiling. "You called Dean, wanting to know how you were supposed to apologize," she filled in.

"Yes."

"And he told you to get me… roses, chocolate… and a puppy."

"He said a cute animal."

Brooke couldn't help the smile forming on her lips. "For future reference, don't just buy an animal for someone without talking to them first. Animals are a huge responsibility. I would have had to take the puppy back."

Castiel said nothing.

"I'm at Bobby's," she said. "In the kitchen."

There was a fluttering, whooshing sound. Brooke put the cellphone on the table and craned her neck around behind her to see Castiel standing there, holding a dozen roses and gigantic, heart-shaped box of chocolates. The image was so incongruous with her understanding of Castiel as a person (angel) that she laughed.

She went to him, taking the roses and chocolates and setting them down on the table. "Dean…" she said, shaking her head. "I bet you he also told you I was just some crazy woman and that you should break up with me."

Castiel, who was already having trouble meeting her eyes, now looked away, entirely. "He… told me we were both stupid."

Brooke smiled. "Well, that's more than I expected of him. I'll have to thank him some time."

"For calling us stupid?"

She laughed. "It doesn't matter. Look, thank you for the roses and chocolate. Flowers aren't really my thing, but I will _always_ take chocolate."

"I'll… remember that," Castiel stated, though his eyes were still looking everywhere in the room except at her.

"Castiel," she said.

He looked like a cornered animal.

"Look, we both said and did things that we didn't mean. I called you a monster and said I'd kill you, which I'm… not proud of. And didn't mean. I'm sorry."

His eyes finally stilled, and he dared to look at her. "I'm sorry."

"Yeah, well," she said, reaching up to touch his face. "Just don't go off on some child-murdering spree, and we'll call it even. Okay?"

He nodded.

"And _don't_ lock me out of your head like that," she suddenly snapped. Her anger surprised even her, and she realized that a lot her annoyance at him over the past four days had been more about that than she had known. "It hurt," she whispered. "Like, physically, it hurt. It felt like you'd just… amputated a limb with a butcher knife."

"It hurt me too," he said, quietly.

"I'm surprised," she admitted. "Your mind is so huge compared to mine, I'm surprised you can tell I'm there at all."

Castiel was giving her The Look. The look he gave her all the time, when he stared at her in that soul-searing kind of way. "I hear every thought," he told her. " _Every_ thought. Every feeling. I notice every time you think of me, or think of anything else. Every time your mind wanders to some distant memory. Every time your eye wanders in my direction. Every time something about me makes you smile or laugh, every time you're annoyed with me, every time you're angry at me. I notice all of it."

Her heart was pounding.

"Yes, I notice those feelings, too," he murmured. "As you already know. Don't ever think I'm not listening to you, that what you think doesn't matter. I always hear you. I just don't always… want to listen."

Brooke smiled softly. "We don't always have to agree, you know," she said. "Part of being in love means making compromises. You will continue to do things that I think are wrong, and I'm sure I've pissed you off before now. That will keep happening. It shouldn't mean that we don't speak for three days."

Castiel nodded. "I'll try to remember that. This… all of this—relationships, friendship, emotions—it's all still so new. I don't… always know what I'm doing."

Brooke laughed. "Well, it took some balls to admit that you don't always know what you're doing. That's a start." She turned around and opened the box of chocolates. She picked one at random and shoved the entire thing in her mouth. A burst of caramel broke through the chocolate's shell. She turned back around. "Remember," she said, her voice muffled and her mouth still full of chocolate. "I will _always_ take chocolate."

Castiel's eyes were glittering in amusement. He reached up, slowly, and used his thumb to wipe caramel off of the corner of her mouth. He stuck his thumb in his mouth, staring at her.

She stared back at him, breathless. "Do you do that sexy shit on purpose?" she asked. "I used to think you were entirely oblivious, but since you're in my head all the time… you _have_ to know…" She trailed off because his eyes were extremely blue, and very serious.

"What it does to you?" he finished. "I know. I _always_ know."

They stood there in the kitchen, staring at one another.

"Well," Brooke said, finally. "You're staring at me like you're gonna _eat_ me, and I'm horny. So things seem to have gone back to normal." She laughed.

###

Days later, Castiel called her as she was driving. She pulled over after telling him where she was so that he would have less trouble trying to to teleport into the car. He appeared in the passenger seat, looking exhausted. And there was cut across the bridge of his nose.

"Cass, what happened to you?" she asked, reaching over to put a hand on his arm.

"I'm fine," he said.

She blinked and his nose was healed. He sighed a long, exasperated sigh and leaned back in the seat, closing his eyes.

Squinting, she sent out feelers into his mind. "You're not fine."

"It's Gabriel," Cass said.

"Gabriel the… Archangel?"

"Yes."

Brooke threw up her hands. "Why does this conversation feel like I'm pulling teeth? Do you want to talk about it or not?"

Cass opened his eyes and stared at the roof of the car. Then he reached over and grabbed her hand. A thousand thoughts whispered in her mind and a thousand images flitted across her vision. She gasped when it was finally over, feeling like she'd just been dunked into cold water.

Castiel was silent, giving her a moment to recover.

When Brooke finally remembered how to speak, she said, "So… Gabriel… stole Sam and Dean and… put them in some alternative universe… or universes… where they were in TV shows."

"Yes."

"And you went after Gabriel so he kept putting you in your own shows… where you were getting beat up."

"Yes."

Brooke leaned back in her own seat, massaging her forehead. "Your brother's a dick."

"Generally, yes. Although, up until today, I hadn't seen him in a long time. But I assume he was being a dick to anyone he came into contact with, seeing as he was acting as Loki."

"Right."

Castiel was massaging his closed eyes with his fingers. "As an angel," he said, "I don't need to sleep, yet I feel exhausted."

"Well, you just had to deal with an asshole brother who was throwing you into involuntary Fight Clubs for who knows how long."

His eyes were still closed, head bent, but he reached into an inside pocket of his trench coat and pulled out a small object, which he held out, closed inside his fist, to Brooke. "Here."

Brooke held out a hand, and he dropped a piece of chocolate, wrapped in foil, into it.

She couldn't help but laugh. "How did you even—when did you get this?"

He didn't answer her question, instead saying, "I'm exhausted and irritated, and since I can't eat, I thought _you_ could eat the chocolate and I could experience the dopamine rush because our minds are connected."

"You physically can't eat?"

"I can, but it's not pleasant."

Brooke smiled, shaking her head, and unwrapped the chocolate. "So when you put that caramel in your mouth…"

"It was disgusting."

She ate the chocolate.

Castiel sighed again as she did, but his face seemed to relax, and he lost his constipated look. She could feel him hovering in her mind, basking in the hit of dopamine.

Brooke studied him. "I _know_ you can feel emotions," she mused. "Why not find something that makes you happy and do that, instead of making _me_ happy and then stealing my dopamine?"

"I don't… know what makes me happy," Castiel admitted, quietly. He'd been leaning back against the seat, his eyes closed, looking very human, but he turned his head to look at her as he spoke.

Brooke was a little stunned by this, but it made sense the more she thought about it. "Right, you're an angel. A soldier. You're happy when you're following orders. I imagine you're happy when you're fighting things, too, but you've been getting beat up for God knows how long now by Gabriel's goons." She paused. "You told me once that my emotions sort of… scream at you. They feel like orders. So… if you make _me_ happy…"

"Then it makes _me_ happy, yes," he finished.

Brooke smiled at him, but in a sad sort of way. "Well, I think we need to figure out what makes you happy. Something that doesn't involve me… or Sam and Dean."

He squinted at her. "Why?"

"We all seem like sort of a clingy bunch, don't we?" she asked.

He only squinted harder.

"Well. You saved my life, and we have a deep mental and emotional bond, so you and I are clingy with each other. You saved Dean from Hell, so you and he are clingy. And Sam and Dean are clingy because they're brothers who spend every waking moment with each other." Brooke rested her cheek on her fist. "You need something you can do without any of us."

"There are a lot of things I can do without any of you."

"For fun?"

He went silent.

"Let's see. If you were stuck in that body forever, but you didn't have me, or Sam, or Dean, and the world _wasn't_ ending, what would you do?"

Castiel stared at her as if she'd gone nuts. "I would find a way _out_ of this body and return to Heaven."

"There's no more Heaven," Brooke said, quickly. "This is a hypothetical. You're human now. What would you do?"

"I don't like this game," Castiel said.

Brooke narrowed her eyes at him. "Play it anyways, or I'm gonna whip you with your tie." She grinned.

He shook his head at her, still looking at her as if she'd lost her mind. "As I said, whipping someone with a tie would be an exercise in futility. But fine." He settled back into the seat, his arms crossed over his chest. "If I were _stuck here_ , without you, or Sam or Dean, and the world wasn't ending…" He fell silent, but Brooke could feel his mind working, sifting through hundreds of scenarios in seconds.

"I don't think I'd want to fight anymore," he finally said, and his voice had gone soft.

"What would you _want_ to do?" Brooke asked, her voice gentle, encouraging.

"I'm… not sure. The Earth is beautiful, at least the part that humans haven't destroyed. Trees, flowers, animals."

"So you'd want to work with nature."

Castiel's eyes wandered the inside of the car, but they were beginning to light up. "Yes," he said, slowly. "Yes, I think so."

Brooke smiled. "Well, it's still vague… but you, at least, came up with a starting point." Then she laughed.

Castiel looked at her quizzically.

"The warrior with the heart of gold," she explained.

"My—my heart isn't—

"It's an expression!" she exclaimed, but only laughed harder. "You fight and kill, basically, for a living. But, somewhere in there, you just want to be a gardener. Follow bees around. Collect honey." She was riffing now, but having too much fun. "I should make you a flower crown."

Castiel looked affronted. "Are you making fun of me?" he demanded.

"Yes," said Brooke, and placed a hand on his cheek. "And here's a secret. Your friends and family are the only ones who get to make fun of you. When I do it, when Sam and Dean do it, it's because we love you. Anyone else who does it gets their ass kicked. Understand?"

The angel's expression changed to one of gentle curiosity. "Yes," he said. He leaned over, slowly, across the console, and kissed her. But it was not his usual, fierce, we-almost-died kind of kiss. This one was surprisingly sweet.

When he pulled away, it took her a moment remember where she was, and she found herself gazing at him, lost somewhere on a cloud. She blinked a few times, and sat up properly. "Okay, now listen," she said. "We're gonna go find some back road to drive down, and then we're gonna switch seats." He tilted his head at her and she grinned, waggling her eyebrows. "I'm gonna teach you how to drive."


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter's so short. This happens right before the big stuff starts to go down with Lucifer, so I cut the chapter off early to save the bigger stuff.

_Twenty_

Brooke had been trying not to think about their insane plan to kill the Devil all day. But Sam and Dean had gotten the Colt back, which was, apparently, a weapon capable of killing Lucifer. Assuming they could even get close enough to him to finish the job. They'd probably all die trying, but everyone here seemed to have accepted that and were doing their best to move on.

They sat around in Bobby's house, doing shots and quietly speaking to one another, like the most pathetic End of the World party. But it was the best they'd been able to come up with on the spot.

Brooke sat beside Castiel at the kitchen table with Ellen and Jo. Ellen had challenged Cass to a duel of sorts, except instead guns, it was shots. Brooke sat with her elbows on the table, resting her face in her hands. She was smiling because she had a feeling she knew who would win—and it wasn't going to be Ellen.

Ellen downed a shot, easily. She looked at Cass. "All right, big boy. Let's go."

Castiel proceeded to down all five shots in a go, slamming the glasses down one after the other, in the span of about five seconds. He looked around a bit, afterwards, and smiled vaguely at Ellen and Jo. "I think I'm starting to feel something," he said, in _his_ version of an excited tone of voice.

Ellen and Jo stared at the angel in amazement.

Brooke simply continued to sit with her face resting on her fists, her head tilted in Castiel's direction, smiling. "That's my boy," she said. "I wonder how much alcohol it would take to actually get you drunk…"

He looked at her with his Serious Face. "I'm not sure."

Still smiling, she slowly shook her head at him. "Never change, Castiel," she said, and rested a hand on his face.

He looked at her. "Dean said the same thing to me, once."

She leaned forward, slowly, so that their lips almost touched. "Don't bring Dean into this," she murmured, and kissed him.

"All right, all right!" Ellen reprimanded. "We're drinkin' here. You two can find a room later."

Brooke looked up from the kiss to see Dean hitting on Jo. She folded her arms across her chest, and leaned in towards Castiel. "Your boyfriend's hitting on Jo," she said.

Castiel looked up at Dean, as if he was completely unaware of whom Brooke could possibly be speaking about. "Dean isn't—

"Keep tellin' yourself that," Brooke said, and laughed. "Dean is as much your boyfriend as _I_ am your girlfriend."

She could feel his confusion, but chose not to elaborate, instead letting him stew in the confusion.

From the living room, she heard Bobby call: "Everybody, get in here! It's time for the lineup."

With a grin still plastered to her face (it was either laugh or cry, and she had chosen laughter long before the night had begun) she pushed herself up and went into the living room, Castiel trailing after her. She reached back and grabbed his hand, something she had never done before. Strangely, this very human, normal act of affection felt very intimate, probably because it was something Cass would never have thought of doing. He did know love, but he knew it _his_ way, and his way was all intense stares, hard kisses, and the mixing together of their minds and souls. He did not know much gentleness, or the simplicity of holding the hand of the one you loved. If they were going to die tomorrow, she would teach him at least that.

They all grouped together in the living room.

"Oh, come on, Bobby," Ellen complained. "Nobody wants their picture taken."

"Hear, hear," Sam added.

"Shut up, you're drinkin' _my_ beer," Bobby said, fiddling with the camera on the tripod. "Anyway, I'm gonna need something to remember your sorry asses by." He backed up into the shot.

"Ha!" Ellen said. "Always good to have an optimist around."

They all clumped together, arms around one another.

"Bobby's right," Castiel said, suddenly. "Tomorrow we hunt the Devil. This is our last night on Earth."

Brooke almost kicked him. _Not the time, Cass_ , she hissed at him in her mind.

He glanced at her, confused, but looked up at the camera again.

The rest of the night was a rather somber affair, with the occasional highlight. Castiel actually _apologized_ for his words, in front of the entire group, after Brooke explained what he'd done by saying all of that. The apology helped, but the mood never went exactly back to how it had been. Still Brooke couldn't fault Cass, entirely. What he'd said—they'd all been thinking it. They all knew it. It was just that Cass had absolutely zero tact.

Eventually, to get away from the rather oppressive feeling inside the house, Brooke dragged Castiel outside, still holding his hand. She had no idea where they were going, but she didn't care. Still, she sort of regretted going out after a few minutes, when she began to shiver even through her jacket.

Castiel took his trench coat off and draped it over her.

"Thanks," she said, but then shook her head. "It's still weird every time you don't have this on. You look naked."

Brooke felt his mind processing what she'd just said. He almost told her that he didn't look naked without the coat on, then it registered that she was using an expression and not being literal, so he didn't say anything.

She stared at him. "Honestly, half the time, smoke should be coming out of your ears. You're like an engine working overtime." She set her face into one of Castiel's thinking expressions and dropped her voice an octave. " _What does she mean? What does Dean mean? Are they joking? Is this sarcasm?_ " She looked up at Cass.

He wasn't exactly smiling, but she could feel the amusement coming off of him, which was good, because she couldn't really see his face clearly in the dark. "That was a terrible impression of me," he said.

"No it wasn't," she said. "I deserve an Oscar."

"Who?"

"Oh my God. Never mind." She burst out laughing. She took his hand again and they walked along, farther from the house.

"So, we're gonna die tomorrow, probably," she said. "So, I wanted to ask you something."

Castiel was silent, but she felt his assent in her mind.

"Can you fly? I mean, you can teleport, and apparently you can run so fast that you can break the sound barrier. But can you just, you know, fly around? Like Superman?" She sent him an image of Superman, one hand outstretched, cape flapping behind him, as he zoomed through the air.

"Yes, I can," Castiel said. "But I don't know why I would want to. Teleporting is much faster and easier."

"That is amazing. I wish you were just a tiny bit more human so that you could understand how _fun_ it would be to fly around."

"I'm getting the general idea from your mind." He let go of her hand and casually floated up off the ground, flying slowly around her in a circle.

She moved in a circle to follow him with her eyes, staring.

He touched the ground again. "I don't see the point of it," he admitted.

She laughed. "You're an angel. You can smite demons with a touch. You can teleport. You can create storms. I don't imagine that flying has any practical use for you, and until you met me and Dean, you didn't really understand the concept of _fun_."

"I suppose it's one thing I need to thank you for. You and Dean. And Sam. For introducing me to… fun things."

She smiled. "What's the most fun you've had since you got here?"

He paused and stood with the question for a moment, really thinking. "Different things, I think, with each of you."

"Fine. With me, then."

Castiel brushed her cheeks with his fingers, then ran them along her neck, and underneath her hair, pulling her hair out from underneath the coat. Cold air hit the back of her neck and goosebumps stood up on her skin.

"The most fun with you," he said, quietly, "was learning what things caused that fluttering in your chest… your mind. Finding ways to look at you, to touch you."

Without thinking, Brooke threw both arms around his neck and kissed him. When she released him, she said, "You always tease me. You always wait til the last possible second before giving in. Not tonight."

"All right," he said, and kissed her.

Her mind shattered into a million pieces. No interaction with him had been like this for a long time; she'd grown so used to being in his mind, sharing her headspace with him, seeing him without a barrier, that being touched by him no longer affected her the way it once had. Especially not since he'd given her part of his Grace. The price for his protection was losing the ability to get lost within him. But tonight, he overpowered her, and she let him.

He wound his way around her, her mind, her soul, her body. He penetrated her thoughts, her memories, caused her to relive every memory she had of him, flew beside her as her mind rushed from one to the next. The night he had rescued her; the day he had showed her how fast he could run; the nights she had spent on Bobby's couch, praying to him… even the bad memories. The night he had come to speak to Dean, being watched by the other angels, and had threatened her life if she got in his way, because he had to.

All the while, he kissed her, ran his hands along her body, tangled them in her hair.

She stood in the dark, with him, yet they were both far away, somewhere off in the stars, floating high above whatever problems awaited them in the morning.

When they gone through every memory, and rested beside each other, mind to mind, soul to Grace, he rested a hand on her chest and she saw his eyes glow blue-white. That sensation began in her core, tingling at first, then it came on stronger. She cried out and touched his face with both hands, her head thrown back, her own eyes glowing as his Grace was activated within her body. Her knees buckled, and he caught her, lowering her to the ground, cradling her head—but his hand remained on her chest.

Her cries grew louder; she gasped his name, over and over, her body trembling. Finally, when she could nearly stand it no longer, a strange thought overcame her. Compelled, she thrust her own hand onto his chest. _Feel it_ , she commanded.

Through half-closed eyes, she saw Castiel tilt his head to the heavens, overwhelmed. All the air around them seemed to suck inwards, pulling them heavily towards the ground, holding them in place. Then, as he released a groan, the air exploded out, away from them. All around them in the scrapyard, Brooke heard the sounds of dozens of windshields and windows shattering as the shockwave hit them.

She breathed his name one last time— _Castiel_ —and blacked out.

She awoke once or twice, afterwards, drifting. She felt him carrying her, still wrapped in his trench coat, through the scrapyard.

A car door opened and closed. She was laying in the backseat of her car. He settled beside her, pulling her up and resting her head in his lap. Her eyes fluttered, trying to open.

 _Sleep_ , he said.

She slept.


	21. Chapter 21

_Twenty-One_

Brooke sat in the back of Ellen's vehicle with Castiel the next morning as they drove into the town where they knew—or hoped—Lucifer would be. Ahead of them, in the Impala, were Sam and Dean.

They'd all gotten up before dawn, drowning themselves in coffee to wake up and shoving food down their throats despite the fact that none of them were hungry. Brooke had dragged Castiel over to Bobby to awkwardly apologize for breaking a bunch of windows out of the cars in the scrapyard, but she'd done so without really explaining _how_ it had happened. He'd stared at her, then shrugged and let the issue go without asking any questions. "When you get back, you're gonna replace 'em all," he said, pointing a finger at her, and then swinging it in Cass' direction. "Both o' ya."

Brooke had promised him she would, and then elbowed Castiel in the ribs until he _also_ promised to do so.

Far too soon, they'd all clambered into their respective vehicles and headed off. During the ride, no one had spoken much, and Brooke was half-tempted to see if she could get a nap on Cass' shoulder while she had the time, but she was too wired. A combination of three cups of coffee and the adrenaline pumping through her veins from fear and the expectations of what might happen next made sleep impossible.

Her mind went back and forth, over and over, between the plan they'd settled on, and picturing them all dead by day's end. She tried to steer herself away from those images, but they popped up no matter how hard she fought them. Without realizing it, she was clenching and unclenching her fists, over and over again.

Finally, Castiel grabbed one of her hands, and squeezed it. _Try to keep calm_ , he admonished. _Your agitation is getting to me_.

_Oh, gee_ , she said, _sorry I'm so worried about the fact that we're all gonna_ die.

She felt his annoyance at her sarcasm, but he held back whatever he'd been about to think at her. _Put your head on my shoulder_ , he said.

She squinted in confusion, but did as he'd said.

He lay his cheek on top of her head. _It's not the same as what we usually do, but breathe_.

She understood, closing her eyes and breathing with him, in and out, slowly, five times. At the end of it, there was still fear and agitation, but she was calm enough to stop fidgeting and was able to think a little more clearly. She remembered months ago when she'd been afraid that Castiel's Grace was making her less emotional, and smiled ruefully. That was obviously not the case. Without that as an option, she, instead, stayed within Castiel's mind for the rest of the car ride, and borrowed some of his own strength. She basked in the absolute quiet of him, quiet in the face of danger, of almost certain death. She allowed him to prop her up, allowed that angelic light, beautiful, but cold, to wash over her. She felt his love for her, but moved past it, trying to find that terrifying, distant part of himself that had once been so familiar to her.

Understanding dawned in his mind, and she could feel him wrapping around her, filling her mind with the cold emotionlessness of an angel on a mission. He shoved away everything that had had made him seem human in recent months, and by the time the car had stopped, her heart and mind had a layer of ice around them. If they all died, so be it. Their mission was to stop Lucifer, and it was the only thing that mattered.

Castiel, still holding her hand, teleported them both out of the car, then he let her go. They stood, shoulder to shoulder, but not touching. Together, but apart. There was no mental barrier between them, and Brooke could hear and feel all of him. But their emotions were muted. Castiel was once again a marble statue, perfect, exquisite, beautiful, and void of most feelings. But now, connected to him, she had become the same way. She stood, breathing calmly, and waited.

"Ever heard of a door handle?" Jo asked, thinking they were still in the car as she leaned down to look through the window.

"Of course I have," Castiel said.

Jo whipped around, stared at them, and shook her head in amazement.

Castiel was staring around at the empty street with that squinting look on his face that suggested he knew more than he was letting on. Brooke glanced at him, curiously.

"What is it, Cass?" Ellen asked.

Cass was still squinting. "This town's not empty," he said. "Reapers."

" _Reapers_? As in, more than one?"

"They only gather like this at times of great catastrophe—Chicago Fire, San Francisco Quake… Pompeii." He was looking everywhere, his gaze flitting from the sidewalks, to the streets, to the roofs of the buildings.

_How many are there?_ Brooke asked him.

He grabbed her wrist, his eyes glowing, and gave her a brief glimpse of the area through his own eyes.

Brooke inhaled sharply. There were dozens—hundreds—of Reapers, all over the place. They stood very still, as if waiting for something.

Castiel released her wrist and there was a strange stretching affect as her vision returned to her own eyes. She squeezed her eyes shut and rubbed them, blinking a few times to restore normalcy.

"Excuse me," Castiel said, moving away from Brooke and the other two. "I need to find out why they're here."

Brooke followed him.

_Stay_ , he said.

_I don't think so_.

He kept moving, and she followed behind him directly. She couldn't see the Reapers anymore, but she was grossed out by the idea of accidentally going _through_ one of them, so she followed Castiel's footsteps exactly.

_I don't have time to watch over you._

_Then_ don't. _I'm not helpless. Do what you gotta do, and let me follow_.

_Fine_.

He ignored her after this, walking across the street, occasionally looking left or right as if seeing someone—in this case, a Reaper. But he never stopped moving. He was looking for someone in particular.

He paused, sensing something, and looked up into the window of a building. Brooke looked up, too, but obviously did not see the Reaper standing there.

She could tell that he was about to teleport up into the building, and shot her hand out for his arm, twisting a handful of his coat into her fist.

_You know I can simply teleport out of your grip_ , he said.

_Take me with you, you son of a bitch. If we're gonna die today, we're gonna do it together, and if you don't teleport me up there I'm just gonna find the stairs._

There was a split-second's hesitation on his part, during which, a flood of arguments against this idea rushed through her mind. But Castiel did not have time to argue. He was either going to take her with him of his own free will, or she was going to forcefully follow him. With a small sigh, all argument ceased, and the next second, they were both standing inside the building.

She let go of his coat and followed him down the hall. There was a figure at the end of it. Brooke looked upon the figure, and though it no longer caused her pain to look upon the true forms of angels, a thrill of terror ran through her.

_Lucifer_ , she thought, and automatically snatched Castiel's hand in her own, half-wanting to throw herself in front of his body, as if to protect him from the sight of his brother's face. It was a strange feeling, now that she was able to process it without going insane. Still, looking upon his true form felt like teetering on the edge of a cliff.

"Hello, brother," Lucifer said in the voice of the human he was possessing.

But Brooke could hear his true voice, and the sound of it, though she was able to withstand it, made her want to shove knives into her ears.

There was a blinding flash of light, and when Brooke came to, she was standing, with Castiel, in a circle of holy fire.

Lucifer, in his vessel, pushed off the wall he'd been leaning on, and smiled. "So, I take it you're here with the Winchesters," he asked.

Castiel's mind was working frantically. "I— _we_ —came alone," he said, his eyes flicking to Brooke for a moment.

Lucifer, who had been pacing slowly around the circle, paused. "Loyalty," he said. "Such a nice quality to see in this day and age." He looked at her, and she resisted the urge to claw her eyes out with her fingernails. "Loyalty to _friends_ , loyalty to _lovers_. You even _brought_ the angel whore."

Brooke said nothing, but beside her, she felt a flash of anger coming from Castiel. She squeezed his hand, which she'd forgotten she'd been holding, trying to keep him from doing something stupid.

Lucifer smiled at her, and she forced herself to keep looking at him, even as that horrible, terrifying face beneath the vessel gnashed its teeth at her. "That's what they call you. Angels, demons—they all call you the angel whore. Because, well, you're a whore for angels. Or, rather, _one_ angel." He flicked his gaze away from her and towards Cass. " _Castiel_ , right?"

Castiel nodded.

Lucifer nodded along, pointing at him, beginning to pace again. "Castiel… I'm told you came here… in an _automobile_."

His vessel's voice was quiet and pleasant and conversational, but Brooke could not unhear his true voice, a voice which penetrated her mind in a way that Castiel's never had. She felt violated.

"Yes?" Castiel said, his voice a question.

"What was _that_ like?" Lucifer asked.

"Um… Slow. Confining."

Lucifer nodded, as if whatever Castiel said actually interested him. "What a peculiar thing you are," he observed. His eyes flicked to Brooke, as if he found her peculiar, also.

"What's wrong with your vessel?" Castiel asked, trying to keep the Devil's attention on him.

"Yes, um… Nick is wearing a bit thin, I'm afraid. He can' contain me forever, so…"

Castiel, who had remained relatively calm up until this point, stepped forward, pulling his hand out of Brooke's grip. "You—" he began, and his true form grew brighter that righteous indignation. Immediately, he stopped, glancing down at the ring of fire surrounding him, surrounding them both. A little of his steam wore off, but he looked up at Lucifer, still smoldering. "You are not taking Sam Winchester."

Lucifer said nothing.

"I won't let you."

Lucifer looked at Cass, then, like he pitied him, and he began a speech about how they were the same, both having rebelled against Heaven, both having been cast out. He paced around and around, causing Brooke and Castiel to have to spin in their circle to keep him in their sights.

"Why not serve your own best interests?" Lucifer concluded. "Which, in this case, just happen to be mine?"

Castiel stared at him with resolve. "I'll die first," he said.

Lucifer stared back. "I suppose you will," he replied.

###

A demon showed up not long after their initial conversation with Lucifer. He'd mostly been pacing around and around the ring of holy fire since then, occasionally making some remark that he thought was funny. Castiel had gone still once he realized that the Devil was not going to hurt him—yet. It took a little longer for Brooke to be able to find her center again, but Castiel had, once more, wrapping her mind in ice. Soon, she, too, had stood still.

Brooke turned her head to study the demon that had walked in, wearing a rather pretty woman as a vessel.

The demon smiled at Castiel and her, a secretive smile. She turned to Lucifer. "I got the Winchesters pinned down—for now, at least. What should I do with them?"

Lucifer told the demon to leave them alone, to which the demon responded with surprise.

"Trust me, child," Lucifer said, holding the demon's face in his hands. "Everything happens for a reason."

Brooke hadn't moved, but her eyes were watching the interaction. Something felt off, like the Devil was about to snap the demon's neck. But he didn't. Brooke assumed it was nerves that were making her think things like that.

"Well, Castiel—and whore," Lucifer said, turning to them again. "You have some time. Time to change your mind?"

Castiel glared at Lucifer, his resolve as firm as ever.

Lucifer glanced at Brooke as if, somehow, her agreeing to anything would matter, anyways. She stared back at him, saying nothing.

###

After Lucifer had left, Castiel had slowly begun to trickle information into Brooke's mind. He had refrained from thinking too much at her earlier, in fear that Lucifer, powerful as he was, might be able to sense the deception. But now that there was only the demon, one who didn't seem very powerful, Castiel had risked telling Brooke his plan.

Brooke had not reacted in any way to the information, instead keeping her eyes on the demon as she prowled back and forth with a big smile on her face.

Castiel, keeping her distracted, said, "You seem pleased."

The demon spun to look at him, still smiling. "We're gonna win," she explained. "Can you feel it?" She laughed. "You cloud-hopping pansies lost the whole damn universe. Lucifer's gonna take over Heaven. We're goin' to Heaven, Clarence!" She laughed again, almost maniacally, and looked at Brooke, her expression suddenly going flat. "You can't come, whore."

Brooke stared at the demon, but said nothing. The calm was still there, cold and clinical. Being called a whore by a demon wasn't really high on the list of things that were insulting, anyways.

Castiel smiled, which was the first thing that caused Brooke's wall of ice to crack. Even when he was smiling in a tight, mirthless kind of way, it still caught her off guard.

"Strange," he said to the demon. "Because I heard a different theory from a different demon named Crowley."

The demon's whole face became a snarl, beneath the mask of her human vessel. "You don't know Crowley."

"He believes," Castiel continued, ignoring her, "that Lucifer is just using demons to achieve an end. And that, once he does, he'll destroy you all." He slowly walked forward, until he was almost touching the line of holy fire, staring at the demon in a challenging kind of way. He was keeping her talking, all the while twisting a screw here and there…

"You're wrong," she told him. "Lucifer if the father of our race—our creator. _Your_ god may be a deadbeat, but _mine_ —mine walks the Earth—

There was a loud noise as a pipe fell from its holding and slammed into the demon's back, shoving her through the line of holy fire and into Castiel's arms. He grabbed her, roughly, and placed a hand on her forehead, to smite her.

Brooke's body mass had dropped a little as she went into a fighting stance, automatically. She was preparing to run, in case something went horribly wrong. Neither she, nor Castiel, were exactly sure if holy fire could hold her; she had part of an angel's Grace in her body, but she was still human. Either way, if the demon went after her, she had every intention of throwing herself through the flames to get away, in hopes that she'd still be alive afterwards so that she could go and find Sam and Dean.

But nothing happened.

The demon laughed as Castiel stared at her in confusion and horror. "You can't gank demons, _can_ you?" she said. "You're cut off from the home office and you ain't got the juice."

Brooke waited, her body tense.

"So what _can_ you do, you impotent sap?" the demon demanded.

Castiel breathed heavily, staring down at her. "I can do this," he growled, and threw her body down over the line of fire, breaking it. The demon screamed in pain as Castiel grabbed Brooke's hand and brought her safely over the line with him.

In a moment, they were far away, standing in a field somewhere. Below their feet, Sam and Dean were in the grass. Castiel bent down, putting a finger over his lips in a shushing motion, and stretched out his arm. Brooke grabbed one shoulder and Sam and Dean held his arm. They were teleported away.


	22. Chapter 22

_Twenty-two_

Ellen and Jo were dead, and their plan to kill Lucifer had failed. In all, they had gained nothing from any of it, and they had to assume that Lucifer had completed his ritual to raise Death. They all sat around moping at Bobby's house for a day or two, trying to sleep but none of them able to. Castiel, who, as an angel, was _literally_ incapable of sleep, shuffled around from room to room uselessly. Even he felt awful about Ellen and Jo. He never said anything, but she could hear his thoughts, regretting that he'd gotten caught in the holy fire, thinking that if only he hadn't gone off to see why the Reapers were around, if he'd stayed with Ellen and Jo, he might have been able to save them.

Some days later, in the middle of the night, Brooke went to him. She didn't say anything because she knew that his guilt was shared by all of them. She, too, felt that she'd been useless that day. She had stubbornly followed Castiel instead of staying with the girls. And now they were dead.

Brooke stoked the fire in the living room, and she and Castiel sat side by side on the ground by the hearth, saying nothing, but sharing their pain.

The next day, Sam and Dean left. Castiel vanished, too. Brooke got in her car, picked a direction, and drove.

###

Brooke startled awake when her cellphone went off next to her. Eyes still closed, she flipped it open and brought it to her ear. "Hello?"

"Brooke," Castiel said, "Anna's back."

"What?" she asked groggily.

"Anna. The angel."

Brooke, who was about ninety-eight percent asleep, began to drift off again.

"BROOKE!"

She let out a wordless yell and sat up. "Sorry. Anna. Right. Okay. Man, you gotta stop calling in the middle of the fuckin' night." She gave him the address of the motel room she was sleeping in, and he appeared a moment later.

"We need to go," Castiel said, moving toward the bed.

"Mm-hmm," she hummed, eyes closed.

Castiel gripped her shoulder, and she steeled herself, waiting to be teleported off somewhere. Instead, she got what felt like an electric shock through her system. _WAKE UP!_

She let out another wordless yell, and jumped out of the bed, suddenly feeling like she could run a marathon. She stared at Cass. "What did you do to me?"

"I made your brain produce a lot of adrenaline to wake you up."

"You know when it wears off I'm gonna crash, right?" She was breathing heavily and had to resist the urge to start running in place, or throw something.

"It won't wear off for a while," he said, and pulled her with him into Sam and Dean's motel room.

"Hi, guys!" she yelled, when she saw them.

They stared at her.

"What the hell happened to _you_?" Sam asked.

"Oh, nothing!" she replied, sounding overly-cheery. "Castiel _spiked my brain with adrenaline,_ is all. Cass, are you sure I'm not about to have a heart attack?" She spun to face him.

Castiel sighed and placed a hand on her shoulder again. After a moment, she began to feel a little less jittery. "You won't have a heart attack," he assured her.

"Great," she said. "Don't ever do that to me, or I'm gonna—

"—whip me with my tie?"

She stared at him. "No. Your _belt_."

He stared back at her, and she could tell from whatever emotion had just surged in his brain that if they'd been alone, he would have had her against a wall in a second and done very naughty things to her until she couldn't think anymore.

"Oh my God!" Dean said, from across the room. "Would you two quit it? What are we doing about Anna?"

Castiel stared at her for a few more seconds, and she could feel him resisting every urge in his body with all the willpower he possessed. Then, as if a flip had been switched, he just turned it off. He bent over the table and began to draw a sigil on the table in front of him, as if nothing had happened.

Brooke sat down on the edge of one of the beds, feeling some hormonal whiplash.

"So, Anna's gone all Glenn Close, huh?" Dean said, and Brooke figured she must have missed some part of the conversation. Maybe Cass had picked her up in the middle of something.

"Who's Glenn Close?" Castiel asked.

"No one," Dean said. "Just this psycho bitch who likes to boil rabbits."

"So…" Sam said, and Brooke turned to look at him. "Would this plan to kill me—would it actually stop Satan?"

"No!" Dean snapped. "Sam, come on."

"Cass, what do you think?" Sam asked. "Does Anna have a point?"

Brooke stared at them all, it being very obvious, now, that she had been dragged along into this plan well after they'd been talking about it without her.

Castiel looked at Sam, then glanced at Dean, hesitating. He looked back at Sam. "No. She's a… Glenn Close."

"Okay, Cass," Brooke said, loudly. "Can you just info dump all of the relevant information into my brain, now? What—what is happening?"

Castiel looked at her from across the room, and a hundred different thoughts all entered her brain at once. She gripped her forehead in her hands, but nodded through the pain. "Okay, the important part is… Anna wants to kill you. Got it."

"Okay, I _don't_ get it," Dean said. "We're looking for the angel that wants to gank Sam? Why poke the bear?"

"Anna will keep trying," Cass explained. "She won't give up until Sam is dead. So we kill her first."

He finished whatever preparation he'd been doing as they'd all been talking. A small cauldron sat on the table, along with some herbs and other things. He spoke in Enochian, performing the spell, and flame appeared in the cauldron. Immediately, Castiel's knees buckled and he gripped the chair in front of him.

Brooke had felt his weakness, the amount of energy he had just expended performing the spell. Cut off from Heaven, as he was, there were certain things he could no longer do, like healing Bobby's legs or smiting demons. This, he _could_ still do, but it cost him a lot. Brooke shot up off the bed and went to him, gripping his arm as he stood, leaning over the chair, his eyes closed. She felt his appreciation for her concern.

"I found her," he told Sam and Dean, opening his eyes.

"Where is she?"

"Not _where_. _When_. It's 1978."

" _What_?" Sam snapped. "Why 1978? I wasn't even born yet."

"You won't be…" Castiel mused, slowly, "if she kills your parents."

"What?" both boys demanded, together.

"Anna can't get to you," Cass said, looking at Sam. "Because of me. So she's going after your parents."

"Take us back right now," Dean said.

"And deliver you right to Anna?" He shook his head. "I should go alone."

"They're our parents, Cass!" Dean yelled. "We're _going_."

"It's not that easy," Cass argued, turning away.

"Why not?" Sam asked.

Castiel explained that he was cut off from Heaven's power, and that time travel, especially with multiple passengers, would be very difficult for him. It would weaken him.

"So, what?" Dean said. "You're like a DeLorean without any plutonium?"

"I don't understand that reference," Cass answered, frustrated.

Brooke laughed and threw herself back onto the bed behind her. She knew what would happen now. They would all go, no matter what Cass said, and they would all get hurt, and someone might die, and they might never come back.

"Listen to me, Winchesters," she said, folding her hands behind her head and staring at the ceiling. "You _will_ bring Castiel back to me, _alive_ , or I will kill both of you, and then myself."

She could feel three sets of eyes on her.

"Cass, don't even fight them on this," she said. "Just go." She sat up and stared at him, hard, the way he often looked at her, and though she couldn't really pull it off, she attempted her best mind-whip:

_Don't die_ , she commanded, forcing that thought into his mind with as much power as she could muster.

He stared at her. _Yes, ma'am._

A few minutes later, the boys had packed a bag, mostly full of holy oil, and were ready to go. Brooke got up off the bed, and—still doing her best impression of Castiel—grabbed him by his tie and yanked him down, kissing him, hard, on the mouth. "You come back to me, or I swear…"

He touched her cheek briefly with a hand and then turned to the boys. "Ready?" he asked. And then he touched them both on the forehead, and they all disappeared.

Brooke took a steadying breath, and sat back down on the bed. She bowed her head and began to pray for their safe return.

###

Sam and Dean returned by the next night—alone.

They each tried to explain that they were sure Castiel was still alive, that he just needed time to recover and then he would make his way back. But neither of them sounded very sure.

Brooke stared at them, not really seeing either of them, and stumbled outside, even though it was the middle the night. She paced and ran her fingers through her hair, and folded her arms across her her chest, tightly. She told herself not to worry. She told herself that Cass was gone for weeks at a time and always turned up when she least expected it.

But he had not been certain of his ability to transport them all back in time, and she had _seen_ how weak even doing a location spell on Anna had made him. She almost cried, but forced herself to stop. It was too soon, and it wasn't reasonable to assume anything bad yet.

She went back inside. The boys did not speak to her, moving around her as if she were a bomb that they might set off. Dean did, once, silently offer her a drink, which she took. She downed the alcohol in one go, relishing the burn in her throat and the warmth in her belly.

She had paid for another day and night in the motel room after they'd left, not thinking to get a separate room for herself, so when they all finally went to bed, Sam elected to sleep in the cushy chair. No one really slept. Occasionally, Brooke dozed off, but woke almost immediately. Every time she woke, she prayed for Castiel's safe return, and every time she dozed off, she had strange, restless dreams.

###

In the morning, Castiel still had not returned and Brooke's eyes itched and burned from lack of sleep. She sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing her eyes, as the boys moved around her, mostly getting more alcohol.

Brooke closed her eyes for one moment, resting her forehead in her hands, and felt Castiel's presence in the room. She dropped her hands immediately, her heart pumping. He stood in front of her, swaying on his feet. She shouted and stood up to catch him as he began to tip over.

Sam and Dean rushed over, grasping each arm. "Castiel!" Sam exclaimed.

"You son of a bitch, you made it!" Dean said.

Castiel pulled back a little from Brooke, and stared down at his own hands as if he had never seen them before. "I did?" he asked. He looked up at all them. "I'm very surprised." He smiled, a rare occurrence, and passed out, falling backwards.

Brooke grabbed him by his shirt collar, and Sam and Dean held him by each arm. They got him down onto one of the beds. He did not wake, did not move. But he was breathing. Brooke sat on the bed and watched his face, running her knuckles along his cheek. Sam and Dean spoke to each other, but she did not hear what they said, their voices muffled and insignificant.

She leaned down onto the bed, resting her cheek against her knuckle, and ran the fingers of her other hand through his hair. She noted, as she had many times, how beautiful his eyelashes were, fanned out against his cheeks. She continued to run her fingers through his hair, studying his face in a way she didn't think she'd ever been able to before. Passed out, as he was, he looked very peaceful. She knew that he'd just been through a lot, that he'd probably be in pain were he awake, but in his current state, still and quiet, unaware, he looked almost childlike. And he was beautiful.

It was then that she realized something she felt she should have known all along.

Sam and Dean were off in the corner, drinking and murmuring to one another, but she had forgotten they were even in the room.

_Castiel_ , she began, though she could not feel his mind at all, other than a very faint glimmer, telling her that he was still alive.

_I don't know if you can hear me, but if you can… you should know. I figured out Chuck's prophecy about us. You and I were never sure that, when he said I was meant to witness, that he was talking about the Apocalypse. We always thought he sounded uncertain about that._

She smiled down at Castiel's still form.

_I'm not meant to witness the Apocalypse,_ she told him. _It's_ you. _I'm meant to witness…_ you. _Just as you are meant to protect me, I am meant to stay by your side, to witness all that you are and all that you do._

It explained everything: why they were connected the way they were; why Brooke, somehow, had not been killed by demons or angels since joining Castiel and the others; why she was always compelled to follow him wherever he went; why he had found it so necessary to give part of his Grace to her. She needed to be stronger, so that she could follow him, so that she could be with him, stand beside him, even in the face of death. By giving her a part of his Grace, he had given her the strength necessary to be around multiple angels at once, which would be a common occurrence, since _he_ was an angel.

She did not care that her life had been written down as a story, had been prophesied. She did not care the reason that she lay, now, on the bed beside this angel. She cared only that she now understood, and that the prophesy was, somehow, the most beautiful thing she'd ever heard.

Her story was _his_. _She_ was his, and he was hers. And that was all that mattered. Sam, Dean, the Apocalypse, the other angels and their wars and politics… None of it mattered, not to her. Now there was only Castiel. Now and forever.

###

It took days for him to wake up. Sam and Dean had left the motel some time ago, but not before buying out the room for her for a week. Castiel could, probably, have been moved, but they all agreed it was better that he stay where he was.

Brooke stayed with him. She pulled his body up farther onto the bed to make him more comfortable. She loosened and removed his tie, knowing that he hated it. She grabbed food from nearby fast-food places, ate quickly, and returned to the motel room. The other angels were not on Castiel's side, so she was afraid of what might happen to him while she was gone. Comatose as he was, he'd make an easy target.

She showered at night, wandered about the room, did simple exercises to keep herself in shape as she waited for him to wake up. Mostly, she stayed out of his mind, trying to give him mental space, since she did not really know what he was experiencing in his coma.

She did not sleep much, but when she did, she had very strange dreams, overlaid in Enochian chanting. She figured she had to be connecting to Castiel while she was asleep, but she was never aware of the connection until after she had woken up. In the morning, she checked on him, but there wasn't much to do. He was in a human vessel, but the vessel was holding an angel. As he'd told her once, he did not need to eat, or sleep. He also didn't need to go to the bathroom. He sweated occasionally, which she chalked up to whatever damage he'd received pushing himself too far when he'd taken Sam and Dean back in time, and then brought himself back, later. She'd leave a cool washcloth on his forehead for a while, dab his neck and the notch beneath his collarbone, and when she'd check on him again, he wouldn't be sweating anymore.

She was in the middle of reading some random article in a crappy magazine when he woke up. She dropped the magazine on the table and went to him, kneeling beside the bed. He was still laying on his back, and he turned his head to look at her. "Hello, Brooke," he said, and his voice cracked. He cleared his throat.

She smiled at him and reached over to run her fingers through his hair. "Hello, Castiel. How are you feeling?"

"Like I've been in a coma for days." He sat up.

She got up off her knees and sat on the bed beside him.

"I had… strange dreams," he told her.

"I know. I had them, too, every time I went to sleep."

"I could… sense you. You were always there, but you felt far away." He looked at her, then looked around the room. "Have you been here the whole time?''

"Of course I have. I wasn't going to leave you on your own."

He looked at her again. "Thank you," he said.

She smiled and touched his face.

They sat silently for a while, shoulders touching.

"I heard what you said," Castiel told her.

"Hmm?"

"About the prophecy. About what you think it means."

Brooke said nothing.

"I don't… know if I agree with you," he admitted, after a time.

"Well, we can agree to disagree," she said.

"Yes," he said. "Relationships are… about compromise."

Brooke smiled, remembering when she had told him that after he'd tried to kill the boy, Jesse, and they'd argued. She rested her head against his shoulder, and they sat.


	23. Chapter 23

_Twenty-three_

Castiel had not awoken out of his coma feeling one-hundred percent, so Brooke had taken time off Hunting to be with him. It felt almost like they were a normal couple, although the impending Apocalypse loomed over their heads constantly.

Brooke took Castiel out to parks, remembering their conversation some time ago about what he would want to do with his time were he stuck on Earth as a human. They wandered the pathways, watching birds, looking at flowers. It was nice for all of about two days. It didn't feel real. It didn't seem like something that Cass would ever have agreed to, were he not still recovering from his injuries and from being in a coma. Brooke chose to cherish these small moments, and when they ended, she tucked them away into the back of her mind, to bring up on a rainy day.

Walking down a path one day, the wind rustling the leaves overhead, Castiel's cellphone rang. Brooke still thought it strange that an angel would even _have_ a cellphone.

"Dean," Castiel said.

Brooke sighed in resignation and grasped Cass' hand, fully expecting to be teleported away somewhere. She blinked, and they were standing in… Oh. She averted her eyes from the open body laying on the table, his organs sitting in clear containers.

Dean was still talking into the cellphone, telling Cass where to go. He blinked in surprise at the angel who was now standing in front of him.

"I'm there now," Castiel said, speaking into the cellphone, while staring at Dean.

"Yeah, I get that," Dean said.

Castiel hesitated. "I'm gonna hang up—now."

Brooke let go of Cass' hand to go stand in the corner while she tried to pull herself together. The combination of an open, dead body on the table and Castiel's inability to blend in with humans was too much for her. She covered her mouth with her hand, trying not to die laughing.

###

Brooke remained in the far corner of the room and tried not to be _absolutely_ disgusted when Castiel picked up a human heart in his ungloved hand. What followed was a discussion about cherubs, and one that was—apparently—killing humans.

"A cupid has gone rogue," Castiel told them, and he had reverted back to his soldier-self. "And we have to stop him—before he kills again." He leaned over the two Winchesters, his whole being exuding anger and irritation.

Brooke walked over from her corner and touched his shoulder. "Cass, chill," she said.

He turned to her. "I can't _chill_ , as you say. An angel is _killing_ humans."

Brooke raised her eyebrows at him. "You sound surprised, like you've never met an angel who's ever killed a human." She sent multiple images into his mind, of Uriel, of Anna… of himself.

He stared at her. "That's not helpful," he admonished.

She beamed at him.

###

They sat, later, in some fancy restaurant, and Brooke was miserable, but trying not to show it. The restaurant had a drsesscode, which means in order for her to get in, she'd had to go buy a dress and heels. She couldn't remember the last time she'd worn a dress; dresses weren't the proper attire for Hunting, and even after she'd given Hunting up, she'd worked at a _fast food place_. Dresses had never really been a part of her life.

The only good thing about it all was the look Castiel had given her upon seeing her dressed up, even though the dress had been like twenty dollars at some cheap store somewhere. The shoes had been pricier, but she needed to make sure the heels weren't going to randomly break off while she was walking. She came outside, holding her other clothes over one arm, and found Castiel waiting. He'd looked at her, then, in a way he had never _really_ looked at her.

"Oh, I'm hot _now_?" she demanded. "But never before this? You need to see skin to think a girl's hot? You wear a _trench coat_ , _all the time_. I only ever see your face, and I think _you're_ hot."

He approached her slowly, as if she were some wild animal who might decide to attack him at any moment. "You're beautiful," he said. "You've always been beautiful." He was still staring at her like she was the only woman he'd ever seen. It was actually kind of creepy.

She studied his face. "Are you okay?"

"I… I think so."

She squinted at him. "You seem weird."

Castiel swallowed, as if he were nervous.

"Okay, what—

Before she could even finish her sentence, he'd grabbed her shoulder and teleported them both to the entrance of the restaurant. "No!" she said. "My _clothes_. I need to put them—

She blinked and they were standing inside the motel room. "Dude, you need to warn me before you teleport me around like that," she admonished, feeling dizzy. "I'm human, I'm not meant to be zoomed around from place to place." A little wobbly, she went to the bed and dropped her clothes in a heap on top of it.

She turned and he was standing right there, inches away from her, staring down into her eyes.

"Something _is_ wrong with you," she said. "You've been horny before, but not like _this_."

"I'm aware," he said. "I don't know what it is." Then he kissed her.

She allowed it, for a few seconds, but pulled away. "The restaurant," she reminded him.

He stared at her, and she felt his frustration. Very _human_ frustration. Very human _attraction_ , too. Of course, he'd wanted her before, but always in an angelic sort of way. His attraction had been to her mind, to her soul. Not quite so much to her body. He kissed her, often, because _she_ enjoyed it. He touched her, because he knew that that was how humans showed affection. But he was still a being of light and energy, trapped inside a human body. The way _he_ showed affection was by touching her mind, allowing her into his thoughts, allowing her to feel what he felt. But right _now_ , seeing into his mind, she knew that he wanted her, physically. As a human would. He wanted to have sex with her, badly.

She stared up at him, and, feeling stupid, touched the back of her hand to his forehead, to check for fever. "Are you gonna be all right?"

"Yes," he said, though his voice was even lower than usual, and gravelly.

Even she was affected by whatever he was feeling, and had half a mind to shove her clothes to the floor and him onto the bed. "We gotta go," she whispered.

He tangled one hand into her hair, kissed her, hard, and then grabbed her shoulder and they were standing in front of the restaurant again.

All through their dinner—though it was interrupted early on—she kept her eye on him. That was when the second weird thing happened. Dean, who _wasn't_ hungry, shoved his burger away. So, Castiel, who was an angel and had never previously shown interest in food, took Dean's uneaten burger. Brooke stared between Dean and Cass. "Okay, what the fuck is going on?" she demanded, but right then is when the cherub showed up.

###

The cherub was not what Brooke had been expecting. The only examples of angels she had seen were soldiers, like Cass or Anna, or Archangels. _This_ naked man was _not_ at all what she had come to expect an angel to look like. As he came towards her, smiling, she pulled the tiny, sharp hairpin out of her hair. "You try to hug me and I swear to God I will _stab_ you," she growled.

"Aww," he said, still approaching, " _everyone_ likes a hug."

She began to move backwards and to the right, towards Castiel.

"Cass," she said, "I will murder this angel if he touches me." She put herself behind Castiel.

"There's nothing I can do," Castiel said. "This is—

Brooke, who was not about to be assaulted by a random naked angel, quickly reached into Castiel's coat pocket and pulled out his Angel Blade. "You see this?" she yelled at the cherub. "This thing _will_ kill you. Back off, creep!"

The cherub's arms fell to his sides, and his smile vanished. He looked traumatized.

Brooke turned to Cass. "Nothing you can do, huh?" She reached inside his coat pocket again and replaced the blade.

Castiel was staring at her, his eyes aflame. "You're very attractive when you're asserting yourself," he said.

"Cass, now is not the time to be weirdly horny," she said. She turned and saw that Sam and Dean were staring at her and Castiel in something between horror and surprise. She shrugged. "Something's up with Cass. He's… very human, right now. He wants to bang _me_ , he wants to eat _your_ hamburger." She waved a hand at Dean.

"Why did you bring me here?" the cherub asked, still looking very depressed over the fact that Brooke had not let him hug her.

"Why are you doing this?" Castiel asked him.

"Doing what?"

"Your targets—the ones you've marked—they're slaughtering each other."

If it was possible for the cherub to look anymore depressed, he'd achieved it. "What? They are?"

Dean jumped into the conversation, accusing the cherub of stabbing humans with poisoned arrows.

Soon enough, the cherub was in tears, off in the corner. They all stared at him uncomfortably. "Who's gonna go talk to him?" Brooke asked, after a moment.

Sam and Dean shoved Castiel forward with encouraging looks. Castiel stared at them, then looked wildly at Brooke.

Brooke shook her head, putting her hands up.

Cass sighed, and began to approach the cherub. "Um… Look." He moved closer, his steps hesitant. "We didn't mean to… um… hurt your feelings."

The cherub suddenly turned and grabbed Castiel in a hug. "Love is more than a word to me, you know," he said. "I _love_ love. I _love_ it. And if that's wrong, I don't want to be right!"

Brooke stared, from the background, and moved closer to Sam and Dean. "I don't think I can watch this," she muttered.

Castiel awkwardly hugged the cherub back. "Yes, yes, of course. I, uh…"

Brooke felt something in his mind snap.

"I have no idea what you're saying," Castiel said, pulling away.

The rest of the conversation gave them enough information to realize that the cherub was not the one making people kill each other. He was simply following Heaven's orders. Things went south when he began to talk about John and Mary Winchester, and how they, like many other people, had been set up by a cherub to become a couple.

"They're _dead_!" Dean yelled.

The cherub tried to apologize, so Dean punched him.

Sam tried to ask Dean about his anger issues, and Dean stormed off.

Brooke buried her face in her hands. _Winchesters_ , she thought. _Always so dramatic._

###

Over the course of the next day, Brooke had watched, horrified, as Castiel had consumed dozens of hamburgers. He flitted around from fast-food joint to fast-food joint, demanding them. It got so bad, watching him, that she eventually told him to just leave her in the motel room. But then her own problems started. She hadn't realized it before now because she'd been with him, up to that point, but the moment he left her in the room and teleported away, she felt like she was drowning.

She _needed_ him—not sexually, not exactly. She just needed to be _near_ him. To touch him, to watch him, to listen to him. And now he was gone. He had left her there. Why had he left her alone? She tried to calm down, to remind herself that she had _told_ him to leave her. But now she sat in a chair in the motel room and rocked back and forth, feeling as if had died.

When Sam and Dean came back to the motel room, hours later, she was still sitting in the chair, rocking slowly, sobbing.

"Brooke, what's wrong?" Sam asked.

"Cass," she croaked.

"What about Cass?" Dean demanded. "Is he okay?"

"He left me…"

"What?"

But she did not say anything more. After a moment, they ignored her, and placed a suitcase down on the bed, speaking in low voices.

Brooke saw a flash of bright light, but it did not affect her. She could only think of Castiel. Nothing else mattered.

The angel appeared a moment later, and she felt as if the sun had appeared behind a cloud. She stood up and went to him, crying.

He was holding a bag of hamburgers in one arm, but when he saw her he dropped the bag onto the floor. "Brooke," he said.

"Castiel," she sobbed.

"I should never have left you."

"Why did you?" she asked, her voice breaking.

"I'm so sorry." He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her.

"Okay, what the _hell_ is going on with you two?" Dean demanded. "And Cass, when did you start _eating_?"

Castiel ignored him for about thirty seconds, instead pulling back from Brooke to stare into her eyes and smile. He brought his forehead down to hers and they breathed.

And Brooke felt normal again, as if they hadn't just performed some stupid scene from a Hallmark romance film.

Finally, Castiel pulled away from her, and noticed the bag of hamburgers on the floor. He picked it up and began eating again. "It's all starting to make sense," he said. "That thing in the suitcase—that was a human soul. My hunger is a clue. Brooke's absolute devastation when I left is a clue, too."

"A clue for what?" Sam and Dean said, in unison.

"This town isn't suffering from some love-gone-wrong affect. It's suffering from hunger. Starvation, to be exact. Specifically—Famine."

"The Horseman," Brooke said, slowly, moving farther into the room to join the conversation. Now that Castiel was beside her, she could think clearly again.

"Great!" Dean said. "That's just… great."

"I thought Famine meant starvation," Sam said. "As in, you know, _food_."

Castiel nodded, shoving more hamburger into his mouth. "Yes, absolutely. But, not _just_ food. I mean, everyone seems to be starving for something—sex, attention, drugs, love."

"Well, that explains the puppy-lovers that Cupid shot up," Dean said.

"Right," Castiel agreed. "The cherub made them crave love, and then Famine came, and made them rabid for it."

Brooke stared at Castiel. "Your hair is sexy," she told him.

Castiel turned to stare at her, then leaned down to kiss her. "Try not to distract me," he told her, very seriously. "Our minds are connected, which means if _you're_ horny, then so am I, and right now… That's not good."

"Sorry," she said, breathlessly.

"Okay, you two," Dean reprimanded. "Time out. And, Cass, I don't get it. Since when do angels secretly hunger for White Castle?"

Castiel stared at the hamburger he was holding. "It's my vessel—Jimmy. His, uh… appetite for red meat has been touched by Famine's effect."

"And your sudden overt sexuality?" Dean asked, glancing at Brooke. "Is that Jimmy, too? I thought he was married."

Castiel turned to stare at Brooke, and he filled her mind with a thousand very naughty images. "No. That's just me. Being around Brooke has… given me an appreciation for… the human body." He stepped closer to her. "A _woman's_ body."

Brooke's heart rate increased, and she stared back at him with glazed-over eyes.

Sam stepped in between Brooke and Cass, shoving them both backwards. "Knock it off!" he said, loudly.

"So!" Dean yelled, clearing his throat.

Brooke turned away so she couldn't look at Castiel, but she could feel his eyes on her.

"So," Dean said, again. "Famine just rolls into town and everybody goes crazy?"

Brooke felt Castiel tear his eyes from her.

"And then will come Famine," he began, quoting the Bible, "riding on a black steed. He will ride into the land of plenty, and great will be the Horseman's hunger, for he _is_ hunger. His hunger will seep out and poison the air." He paused. "Famine is hungry. He must devour the souls of his victims."

Dean turned to look at the empty briefcase. "So that's what was in there. The Twinkie dude's soul."

"The what?" Brooke asked.

Dean shook his head at her. "Some guy stuffed himself full of Twinkies til he died."

"Gross."

Castiel cut in, explaining that Lucifer had sent his demons to care for Famine, to feed him, to prepare him.

"Prepare him for what?" Sam asked.

Castiel stared around at them all. "To march across the land."

###

They needed to go after Famine. That much was clear. Last time, Sam and Dean had stopped a Horseman by taking his ring, and Castiel had confirmed that Famine had one, too.

Well, going after Famine was all fine and dandy, except that it had begun to affect Sam, as well. And now, as they were all preparing to leave, Sam came to them from out of the bathroom, sweating and breathing heavily. Famine had dug its claws into him, and now he wanted nothing more than demon blood.

They handcuffed him to the pipe under the sink, and Castiel shoved a massive wardrobe in front of the bathroom door, to hold him until they returned.

Brooke sighed. "Normally, I'd suggest I stay with him," she began. "Or that Dean stays and Cass and I go after Famine. Either way. Except that I'm _also_ affected by Famine, and the second Cass leaves here without me…" She looked at Dean. "And I have a feeling that you would refuse to just sit this one out."

Dean shook his head. "I'm going," he said.

Brooke nodded. "So that means we're _all_ going, and leaving Sam by himself."

"Sam will be fine," Dean said. "Let's go."

###

Whoever the doctor was that Dean had wanted to speak to was dead, which left a hole in their plan, but created a new opportunity. They were going to follow whatever demon appeared to harvest the doctor's soul—straight to Famine himself.

Honestly, most of what Brooke did that night involved watching Castiel eat, and she almost regretted going with him, except that she remembered what she'd been like for those few short hours when he'd gone off without her—a sobbing mess. She sat in the backseat of the Impala as he continued to consume vast quantities of meat, and tried to disconnect from his mind as much as possible, since she was starting to feel queasy just being near him.

"These make me… very happy," Castiel said, holding a hamburger and chuckling.

"Well, it's good to hear you laugh," Brooke said, "though the reason for it is grossing me out."

"Sorry," Castiel said, turning to look over his shoulder at her. "I will apologize to you, _in full_ , later," he told her, his eyes smoldering.

"Guys!" Dean snapped. "God, Cass, between your obsession with hamburgers and your constant flirting, even _I'm_ getting queasy."

Castiel continued to stare at Brooke. Normally, she'd find it hot, except that he was also eating at the same time. She shook her head at him.

"Hey, hey!" Dean said, snapping Castiel out it. "You wanna go over the plan again?"

Cass turned to look at him and pulled the demon blade out of his coat pocket. "I go in, cut off the ring hand of Famine, and meet you back here in the parking lot."

"Well that sounds foolproof," Dean said, sarcastically, but Cass was already gone.

Brooke felt a tug in her body as he teleported away, and grunted in pain as every fiber in her being tried to pull her out of the car after him. It felt like a rope was tied round her middle and trying to pull her out of the car. Dean turned in his seat to stare at her.

"I'm _fine_ ," she said, and closed her eyes, focusing on Castiel's mind. He wasn't too far away, so she was still connected to him that way. The tugging in her body diminished a little. By the time she opened her eyes again, Dean was ready to have an aneurysm.

"This is taking too long," he said. "Let's go." And he got out of the car.

"Thank God," Brooke muttered to herself, still half-wanting to launch herself out of the Impala and through the wall of the diner like a rocket. Dean placed a restraining hand on her shoulder as she began to move past him.

"No," he said. "We go in together, quietly."

Brooke nodded, reigning herself in as best she could. That feeling like a rope was tugging on her was lessening, slowly, the closer she got to Cass.

They entered the diner through the back. Brooke covered her nose at the awful smell that assaulted her nose. There were bodies all over the place, and one of them was half-hanging inside the deep-fryer in the kitchen. Brooke looked over the top of the counter, partly to stop looking at the body, and saw Castiel kneeling on the floor… eating raw meat out of a plastic container like you get at the grocery store.

"Cass!" she reprimanded, half-whispering. "Stop! That's _gross_!"

He didn't seem to hear her.

Demons burst out of a back room from nowhere and grabbed her and Dean. Dean was thrown into a wall. Brooke slammed the butt of her gun into the face of whatever demon was holding her and made a break for it. She was caught again, almost immediately, but the affect that Famine had over her made her stronger. Her greatest want in the world, in that moment, was to reach Castiel. She screamed, an animalistic sound that she was sure she'd never made before, and broke free again, turning and shooting the demon in the face until her gun was out of bullets. The demon did not get up again.

Panting, forgetting about Dean, she launched herself over the top of the bar and ran to him, kneeling beside him. Immediately, Famine's affect on her disappeared.

Dean was dragged out from behind the kitchen, a gash on his forehead. "Cass… Brooke."

Brooke knew there wasn't much she could do for Dean directly. What she really needed was an angel on their side. She shook Castiel, who was still eating the raw meat out of the package. _Cass, stop!_ she said.

There was a ringing in her ears as she tried to get through to Castiel, as if there was interference over his brain.

Desperately, she grabbed the package of meat and threw it away from them both.

Castiel made a noise in his throat, like a growl, then whipped his head to look at her.

"No, Castiel," she said, trying to get through to him. She grabbed his face, roughly, in both of her hands. "Listen to me!"

He grabbed at her arm, and his hand was slimy from the raw meat.

She shuddered. _Cass, stop. Control it!_ The ringing in her ears never let up. He was lost to her, somewhere far away.

He pulled her hands away from his face and began to crawl across the ground like a dog, to the place where the package of meat had landed.

She lunged for him, grabbing him by his coat. "No!"

He let out a wordless shout, and spun around, his arm outstretched.

She squeezed her eyes shut, turning her face away, expecting a blow. None came. She opened her eyes to see that the back of his hand was an inch from her face. He was staring at her, his eyes wild, pupils dilated.

Between their minds, previously disconnected by Famine's power over Castiel, she felt a tendril of him reach out and touch her. _Brooke_.

Suddenly, he was very close to her, scooting across the floor back towards her.

"Oh, no," she muttered. She'd flipped the desire switch in his brain. Now, instead of wanting _meat_ , he wanted _sex_.

She began to back away from him, across the floor, but there was a diner booth in the way. He moved closer and closer to her, mouth red with blood and raw meat, staring at her like an animal.

_Brooke_.

"Cass, no."

Around her, things were happening. Demon bodies dropped like flies, but she was too preoccupied with Castiel to pay attention to any of that. "Castiel," she said. "Fight it. Now is not the time."

He was hungry. Hungry for her. All of her. He grabbed her and pushed her to the floor.

_STOP!_ she demanded, now in true fear. She felt the Grace in her blood rise, grow hot, activating to protect her. She saw Castiel's eyes glow in response, the Grace in his body reacting to the Grace in hers.

Then, he seemed to simply deactivate. He sat, slumped halfway over, not moving, as if he were a robot that had suddenly run out of battery power.

Concerned for him, but knowing that Famine was the bigger problem here, Brooke sat up and turned to look at what the fuck was going on. She was just in time to see Sam—Sam? What the hell was Sam doing here? Blood covered his mouth, and his hand was outstretched in Famine's direction, the old man in the wheelchair.

Demons flowed out of his body like smoke, from a chimney as Sam continued to use the power of demon blood to pull them out. Brooke sat, transfixed, and watched as Famine died.


	24. Chapter 24

_Twenty-four_

It had been an extremely awkward car ride to Bobby's house. Dean was depressed, Cass and Brooke were not speaking to each other, and Sam was slowly going insane the more time he spent without any demon blood. Halfway through the car ride, when Castiel had to use his powers to make Sam sleep the rest of the way, lest he hurt himself or one of them, Brooke suggested they just teleport to Bobby's. Dean had snapped at her for it, and Castiel had snapped at Dean for snapping at her. Tensions were, obviously, high.

And nothing really improved much once they actually got to Bobby's. They threw Sam into the panic room to ride out the rest of his withdrawal, and Dean spent a lot of time drinking. Brooke stayed out his way; he hadn't quite gotten over whatever was up between them. She was sure it really had nothing to do with her, and he was just bitchy at her because he was worried about Sam. She didn't take it personally. Cass tried and failed to help him through his pain, and so Cass, too, was grumpy, and feeling useless and left out.

Brooke hadn't really spoken to Castiel since before the incident in the diner with Famine. She was trying to get over the fact that, under Famine's spell, he had been about to rape her. And, somehow, activating the Grace in her body had been what stopped him. She had allowed him to apologize to her, and she had said she forgave him. She knew that he really had been under a spell, that he had not been in his right mind, but one didn't simply _get over_ being almost raped. Especially not by someone one trusted wholly and completely.

She remembered the time that Castiel had come to speak to Dean when he'd still been controlled by the other angels. That night, under their watchful eye, he had grabbed her roughly by the arm, and dug his fingers into her face. But it had been a ruse, and he had let her know that. Yes, it had still hurt her, but that had been the only way to sell it to the other angels. She'd been fine with that. The night in the diner had been different.

Castiel walked around Brooke like he was walking on eggshells. He stayed out of her way, and out of her mind, as much as possible, trying to give her space. And she appreciated him for it. It took days, but she eventually found her center again. One night, when everyone else was asleep—even Sam, if the silence from the panic room was anything to go on—she got up off the couch and went to him.

He was wandering around the library, picking up books at random, flipping through them, and putting them back down without really looking at them. He went very still when she entered the room, and his face betrayed his trepidation.

Brooke didn't say anything. She just went to him and hugged him, wrapping her arms around him underneath his coat.

Castiel released a shuddering breath, and very slowly hugged her back, as if afraid she'd attack him if he tried.

_It's okay, Cass_ , she told him.

Castiel sighed with relief, holding her tighter, resting his chin on the top of her head. _I'm sorry_ , he said.

_No more apologies. It's behind us, and I know it was a weird situation. I did some crazy shit too, that night. Like shooting a demon in the face six times._

Castiel pulled back from her to look at her. _You shot a demon in the face six times?_

_Oh yeah. He was trying to hold me, but I could see you over the counter. My hunger was_ you _, remember? So this demon was holding me when you were_ right there _. So I shot him. Six times. In the face._

_Well, it_ was _a demon._

_Yeeeeaaaahhh, but six times is a little excessive._

_Perhaps_ , Castiel conceded.

Brooke smiled up at him and cupped his face in her hands. _Kiss me…?_

Slowly, gently, he did.

###

Sam eventually recovered from the demon blood withdrawals, but even then, he wasn't himself for a day or two afterwards. Still, with him out of the panic room, and over the worst of it, Dean seemed to settle down a little. He began talking to Cass and Brooke again. On the last night that they were all together, they took turns playing each other at darts, bringing Bobby into the game, as well. Sam and Dean had smiled when Brooke showed them where she'd set up the dart board, lower down on the wall so that Bobby could play. One by one, they each sat in a chair, Bobby in his wheelchair beside them, and played. They were all excellent, but Castiel was—unsurprisingly—the best among them, being an angel and all.

"Cass, you gotta stop playing!" Dean said, eventually. "You gotta let the humans play each other, or you're gonna keep making us all look bad."

"Sorry," Castiel said, and stepped back to allow them all to keep playing without them.

Sam, surprisingly, beat them all, even though he wasn't quite at a hundred percent yet. It was close between them all, but Sam was the best. It seemed to lift his spirits a little to be the center of attention—in a good way—for a little while.

###

Brooke was in the passenger seat of her car as Castiel drove. It was something that he didn't really understand the point of doing, but he humored her. He was surprisingly adroit at it already, although he occasionally forgot to switch gears if he slowed down or sped up.

They pulled off the highway into a rest stop about an hour into the drive and turned the car off, rolling the windows down. A breeze flowed through the windows, rustling Brooke's hair. She smiled and closed her eyes. "Feels like you," she said.

Castiel said nothing, simply sat in the driver's seat. Then he got out of the car.

Brooke followed him, a silent question in her mind.

"Still feels… confining," he admitted. "Being in a car."

Brooke nodded, studying him. She had become so used to being near him that his utter vastness did not blow her mind as it once had. Most often, now, she could easily see past his true form, and look at only his vessel. But when she allowed herself to see all of him, she understood why being in a car for any length of time had to be uncomfortable for him, squeezing himself into such a small space. Even in the light of day, standing outside, his own light was magnificent. She almost missed that overwhelming feeling he had once given her, just being near her.

Still, holding part of his Grace inside her body had given her new sensations when he was near her. The closer she stood to him, the more his Grace thrummed in her veins, like someone strumming guitar strings. And there was a constant low humming in the back of her mind that harmonized with the humming that came from him. It sounded almost like a heartbeat: a few seconds of a hum, then a pause, then more humming. Like the bass in the background of a song. It changed pitch the more emotional he got. When he was angry—truly, murderously angry—it sounded like shrieking, like someone pressing down too hard on a violin. When he was aroused, the humming grew closer together, with less time in each pause, and the pitch went up.

Brooke went around the car and approached Castiel. Without speaking, she pulled his coat off of his shoulders. He was curious as to what she was doing, but did not resist. She folded the coat over her arm and placed it on the hood of the car. She pushed the sleeve of his suit jacket up, as well as the dress shirt he had on underneath, so that his arm was exposed. Without touching his arm, she ran her fingers up the length of his arm, above it, and smiled at the strange sensation that followed. It was like static electricity, almost, a tingling in her fingers. "Can you feel that, too?" she asked him.

"Yes," he said. "Grace to Grace."

She grabbed his arm, lightly, and felt her hand and arm hum at the contact. "Does it only do this because it's _your_ Grace in my body? Would it feel like this if it were a different angel's Grace inside me?"

"You would still feel it, but it would not match, exactly, with mine," Castiel explained. "Depending on how you felt about me at any given time, or whether the angel whose Grace you had inside you was nearby, it might or might not harmonize with my Grace. If you were angry with me, it would clash, like two people playing two different songs at the same time."

"It reacts to emotional states?"

"It reacts to a lot of things. Emotions, yes. It also reacts to danger, as you know."

She shook her head. "I just don't understand how it's possible to be directly at odds with you if I have part of your soul inside me. Your Grace is the equivalent of a soul, right? How can we be so bound, yet able to think freely from one another?"

"I can only assume that it's because we are in separate bodies, and I only gave you a tiny amount of my Grace," he said. "We _are_ affected by each other's emotional states, but only in very intense situations."

Brooke let go of his arm, and the buzzing, tingling sensation left her hand. She leaned against the car. "That night, with Famine," she began, slowly. "I was trying to get you to stop eating all that raw meat." She made a face at the thought of it. "Nothing was working, so I just threw it far away—and you _almost_ backhanded me."

"I'm… sorry about that," Cass murmured.

"No, listen," she said. "What I'm saying is, you were like a split-second from hitting me. And, you being an angel, you probably would have smacked me across the room. But you stopped. And _then_ , when you almost raped me, I yelled at you to stop, and then you just… stopped. Stopped moving, stopped… _functioning._ You just sort of slumped over, like a dead robot."

Castiel's mind began to process what she was saying. "You think I _can't_ harm you."

"Exactly. You said _Grace to Grace_ when I touched your arm. I've been thinking about that night with Famine since it happened, and… I don't think that you can physically hurt me, because in doing so, you'd probably damage part of your Grace."

Castiel was nodding. "Well, I'm not going to test it," he said, "but it makes sense. Although, I have hurt you before. That night when I had to pretend I would kill you if you got in my way. When I went to see Dean."

Brooke shook her head. "Small injuries, sure. I mean, I don't think you can _kill_ me, or seriously injure me. There's part of your Grace in my body, even it's a small amount. I think the rest of your Grace thinks that I'm… you."

He stared at her.

"Well, it think I'm _part_ of you. Which, technically, is kind of true. I mean… look." Brooke held her hand out, over Castiel's arm again, then pulled it away, then brought it close again. As she did that, over and over, the humming grew louder and fainter respectively.

Castiel did not seem to know what to make of this, and they each stood quietly for a while, leaning against the car.

After a while, Castiel said, "I'm sorry I ever got you involved in any of this."

Brooke stared at him. "Why?"

"You know we'll all die, most likely, at the end of this."

Brooke shook her head at him. "If we all die, it means we probably failed to stop the Apocalypse… which means I'd die, _anyways_. So it doesn't really matter. At least, this way, I get to help."

"You had a life before you met me," he countered. "And I… tore you out of it. Threw you into all this."

Brooke touched his face. "I've been in this for over a year," she said, gently. "I've gotten over it."

Castiel stood in front of her and brought his forehead down to touch hers. "I know I'm still not very good at showing how I feel for you," he said.

"You're an angel. I'm kinda used to it."

He said nothing.

"Besides," she continued, with a smile. "I'm part of you. You think I don't know you love me? I'm in your head almost twenty-four/seven. I know how you feel about me, trust me."

He opened his eyes and looked at her, giving her a rare smile.


	25. Chapter 25

_Twenty-five_

Brooke awoke one morning in the back of her car in a Wal-Mart parking lot. Her phone was ringing. She picked it up, rubbing her eyes. "Yeah?"

"Brooke," Castiel said.

"Yeah."

"Sam and Dean are dead."

Instantly awake, she sat up straighter. " _What_?"

"Don't worry, they die all the time."

"They _what_?"

"I don't have time to explain it to you. Where are you?"

She told him.

He appeared in the passenger seat of the car a moment later and turned in the seat to look at her. "Come on," he said, reaching toward her.

Sighing, she grabbed his hand, and was teleported away. _Bye, car_.

She blinked open her eyes, and it took a moment to comprehend what she was looking at. Sam and Dean lay in their separate beds in their motel room. Covered in blood and viscera. Brooke stood there for a moment, then stumbled away to the bathroom and threw up.

" _Cass_!" she yelled, her voice hoarse from vomiting. "Could you give me a _warning_ next time?"

"I apologize," he said, but sounded distracted.

Brooke dropped the lid of the toilet and flushed it, sitting back against the bathroom wall. "I'm just gonna sit in here," she called. "I don't think I can look at that."

"Fine. I need to connect to Dean, so I'll be doing a spell. Don't speak to me. I need to concentrate."

" _Cass_."

She heard him sigh, and then he walked over to the bathroom. "What?"

"Why am I _here_?"

He stared at her. "To _witness_."

She closed her eyes and nodded, shooing him away with her hand. She leaned her head back against the wall, trying not to think of Sam and Dean laying in their beds, dead and broken. After a moment, she got up and rinsed her mouth out with water. Then she sat down on the toilet seat and waited.

Throughout the day, she heard him speaking to Dean, though it sounded as if he was talking to himself. Whatever Dean was saying to him Brooke wasn't able to hear. There were long silences in between each communication, and eventually, Brooke got tired of sitting in the bathroom. She got up and steeled herself to walk through the rest of the motel room to the door.

_I need some air_ , she said to Cass.

He did not object.

_Probably gonna try to eat something, too, although… I don't know how well that'll go._

She felt his silent acknowledgement in her mind, and quickly walked to the door, keeping her head down. The smell in the room was awful, too, but she didn't notice until she'd left. She stayed away for hours, sitting in a diner nearby. She ordered a late breakfast, but hardly touched it. She drank a few cups of coffee, poked at her food, made herself take bites every once in a while. But the image of Sam and Dean, dead, was still fresh in her mind.

Eventually, she felt compelled to return to the motel room, just to see how it was going. She threw a twenty-dollar bill down on the table and left, walking quickly back to the motel. She steeled herself at the door to the room, but when she opened the door, Sam and Dean were up and moving around. All three men turned to look at her as she came in. Brooke went to Sam first and hugged him, then she turned to Dean, who started to back away from her.

"No," she said. "Last time I saw you, your guts were all over the bed." She hugged him.

"Okay," he said, patting her back awkwardly. "All right."

She let go of him and stepped back. Then she began to actively notice Castiel's mind working, and he was… an emotional wreck.

"Cass, what's wrong?" she asked, slowly moving towards him. "What happened?"

Dean sighed behind her. She turned to look at him again.

He explained to her what had happened, and where they'd been: in Heaven. How they'd had to hide from Zachariah, how they'd met up with an angel named Joshua. Joshua, apparently, spoke to God. Or, rather, God spoke to Joshua. And Joshua had told Sam and Dean that God was done. God didn't want to get involved anymore. He wasn't going to stop the Apocalypse. He'd already intervened in all of their lives more than he'd previously intervened in thousands of years. They were on their own, now.

Brooke, who, despite knowing that angels and demons were real, had never really cared about God, knew what God had meant to Castiel.

Castiel, who had been searching for God for months. Castiel, whose faith in God knew no bounds. Castiel, who, despite it all, was still a good little soldier who only wanted the approval of his father. Who needed, desperately, to be told that he was on the right path.

Castiel stood away from them all, his hands in his pockets, his head down. Even his light seemed… a little dimmer. He was heartbroken.

Brooke stood there, wanting to go to him, to comfort him, but knowing that nothing she did or said would be good enough. Gently, she reached out her mind to him, but he shied away from her like a scared animal, and she saw his shoulders hunch even more, as he pulled into himself.

She nodded, sitting on the bed, and left him alone. She closed her eyes and felt tears leak out of the corners of her eyes—not her _own_ tears, but the ones that he could not release. He, who was shattered and broken and confused. He, who could no longer stand to be in this room.

He, who vanished in a rush of wind.

Brooke took a deep breath and swiped at her tears with her fingers. "So what now?" she asked Sam and Dean.

"Nothing's different," Dean said. "We stop the Apocalypse, _without_ God, just like it was always gonna be."

Brooke nodded, standing up. "Listen, I know I don't normally go with you guys unless Cass is with you, but… I think it's time we team up. Especially since Cass is kinda… broken, right now. I don't know when he'll be back. He didn't say anything to me before he left."

"Right," Sam agreed. "Fine with me if you tag along. Dean?"

Dean looked at her, studied her, scrutinized her. She knew there was still some part of him that disliked her for always being around, for stealing Castiel's attentions. Finally, he sighed, and something in his expression softened a little. "All right. You're in."

Brooke nodded. "Cool. But—Cass teleported me here from my car, so… I need to go… get that, wherever it is. Look, you guys find anything, call me. I'll meet you."

"Cool," Sam said.

###

Apparently, Castiel had teleported Brooke across multiple states, so it ended up taking days to get her car back. She didn't love her car as much as Dean loved the Impala, but it was a car she'd taken from Bobby, so she felt responsible for it. By the time she had gotten it back, Sam had called to tell her they'd gotten attacked by demons on the way to somewhere else, and they were now holed up in some religious town in Minnesota.

She arrived, days after Sam's initial call, in the middle of the night. It took her nearly half an hour just to get in, since the whole town had a curfew, and some very stuck-up guards patrolling the only ways in and out. She'd been splashed with holy water multiple times, as if they thought a demon had flown into her mouth in the time it took for one guard to turn around. After wasting everyone's time, they'd finally let her in.

She called Sam to ask where he was and then pounded on the door where he and Dean were staying, still damp and royally pissed off—and just in time for Cass to _whoosh_ into the room a moment later.

Brooke closed her eyes and tried to ignore the urge to slap the angel upside the head. One time, he had come to see her after losing all hope that God would come to save them—and he'd been drunk off his ass. And it looked like he was _still_ drunk.

He turned to look at her, swaying on his feet. "What are you doing here?" he demanded.

She rolled her eyes up to the ceiling for a moment, trying to reign in the word-vomit that wanted to come out. "Castiel, you get your shit together, or so help me…"

"What are you gonna do to me?" he asked, coming towards her. "We can't hurt each other, remember?"

"Uhh, guys!" Sam said, from the background. "We got more important stuff to talk about. Also, Cass—what happened to you?"

Castiel spun around to face Sam, as if he'd forgotten he was there. "I found a liquor store," he said.

Sam stared at him. "And…?"

"And I drank it!"

Sam glanced at Brooke, who shook her head. "Uh, Cass," Sam began. "Are you okay?"

Castiel stumbled towards Sam, motioning for Sam to come closer, and whispered said in his ear: "Don't ask stupid questions." He pulled back. "Tell me what you need."

Sam, who was now looking rather irritated, explained to the both of them what was going on: massive demon attacks on the edges of the town; a girl named Leah Gideon who was, apparently, a prophet, having visions.

"She's not a prophet," Castiel said, leaning against the wardrobe.

"Yes, she is," Sam told him, starting to explain that she had all the signs of being one.

Castiel looked at the ceiling and sighed like a petulant child. "The names of all the prophets are _seared into my brain_. Leah Gideon is not one of them."

Brooke came closer to the two of them, folding her arms over her chest.

Sam looked between her and Cass. "Well then, what is she?"

###

Dean was back by morning, his hands covered in blood—but not his own. A woman had shot someone.

Brooke was having a hard time concentrating on anything because being around a very drunk Castiel had started to affect _her_ mind, as well. The only option there was to cut off their mental connection, but the last time Cass had done that, she'd almost fainted from pain. She sat on the bed, away from him, her head in her hands, and tried to listen as they all spoke, groaning into her hands as Cass and Dean had a small, marital spat for a few seconds before actually getting down to what was happening in the town.

"Leah Gideon isn't a prophet," Sam told Dean.

"Well, then, what is she?"

"The Whore," Castiel said.

Brooke tried not to laugh at Castiel's piss-poor abilities to explain things without being unintentionally offensive.

"Wow, Cass," Dean said. "Tell us what you _really_ think."

Castiel blinked at Dean. "She rises when Lucifer walks the Earth," he explained, and leaned over open Book on the table, to trace the words he was reading: " _And she shall come, bearing false prophecy._ " He pointed at the picture on the opposite page. "This creature has the ability to take a human's form, read minds. Book of Revelation calls her the Whore of Babylon.

Brooke listened quietly as they continued to speak, and watched as Castiel got up to get water from the kitchen sink.

_Hangover?_ she asked, cheerfully.

Castiel didn't move his head, but his eyes slowly found hers and he gave her a scathing look.

_Boo hoo_ , she said. _You did this to yourself_.

###

That night, Castiel teleported the local priest back into the room with all of them. He was the father of the girl who had been possessed by the Whore of Babylon, and since he was a priest, he was the only one who could kill her.

"Why does it have to be _me_?" he demanded.

"You're a servant of Heaven," Castiel explained from his place in the corner, leaning against the wall.

The priest turned to stare at him. "And _you're_ an _angel_."

"Poor example of one," Castiel muttered, with a rueful smile.

Brooke sighed and massaged her forehead. It had been tense between them all day, and she knew her comment about his hangover hadn't helped. She sent out a tendril of good will toward him, but he pulled away from her immediately. She nodded, silently, and didn't bother him again.

###

They all went to the church after going over the plan multiple times. It was a simple enough plan. But something about Winchester plans always went wrong. They all hid in different areas around the church. Castiel, who was the strongest one among them, physically, was meant to grab the Whore and hold her so that the priest could stab her with the stake made of cypress wood. But the Whore was also strong, strong in magic.

Brooke, who was standing in an entirely separate area of the church, felt Castiel's pain when the Whore spoke the words of a spell and dropped him like a fly. Without thinking, Brooke took off through the church to the back room where she had felt Castiel go down. Crazy commotion was going on around her, now. The Whore was screaming, the priest was on the floor, Dean was yelling. Brooke didn't care.

She dropped to her knees beside Castiel, who was bleeding from his nose and mouth and groaning in pain, flailing about on the floor. Brooke did not know what the spell had done to him, exactly, but he didn't seem to be dying, at least. Feeling all but useless, she gripped one of his shoulders tightly and entered his mind. She said nothing, but needed him to know that she was there, to share his pain. It was not pain as she was used to, for the spell had not been aimed at her. But entering his mind gave her a taste of it. She bent over his body, half in feeling that strange phantom pain, and half to protect him in case the Whore came back.

She stayed that way for some time, hearing only Castiel's groans of pain, feeling only his body within beneath her hand.

Dean pulled her up to her feet, and she gasped, as if her head had been dunked underwater. "Come on," he said, reaching down and pulling Castiel to his feet, as well.

Castiel still was not doing well. Dean got one arm around his shoulder and Brooke pulled Cass' other arm around her, and they made their way out of the church. Beside them, Sam was pulling the priest along.

They all piled into the car and went back to the motel room.

###

Brooke sat on the edge of the bed where they had laid Castiel down. He was still fairly out of it, though he was no longer groaning in pain. She'd been sitting there for fifteen minutes, saying nothing, not looking at anything, when she felt Castiel shift, slowly, on the bed.

She looked down at him, to see if something was wrong, and saw that he was looking at her. His eyes were still pained, but they were lucid.

"Cass?" Her voice was hardly above a whisper.

_Brooke._

_Cass._

_I'm sorry._

She shook her head. _Don't. No need. I know you're sorry, or I knew you'd get there. I know you. I love you. Just rest._

_Brooke, I love you._

She smiled down at him and touched his face gently with her fingers, then brought the back of her hand up to his forehead, checking for fever. Aside from simple pain, he seemed fine. Whatever the Whore of Babylon had done to him, the effects were wearing off.

_Brooke_ , he said again.

_What is it?_

_I shouldn't have left without you, after I found out… about God._

She shook her head. _It doesn't matter._

_No, listen to me._ He shifted more on the bed so that he was laying on his back, looking up at her. _We talked, weeks ago, about the fact that giving you part of my Grace… made you a part of me. I've been thinking about that._ He hesitated.

She ran her fingers through his hair, lightly, giving him time to think of how he wanted to phrase whatever he was trying to say.

_We should stay together, if we can_ , he said, after a moment. _I shouldn't have left you back there like that. Maybe if you'd been with me, I wouldn't have… gotten so drunk._

She chuckled. _You've never really listened to me,_ she said. _You probably still would have gotten drunk; I just… would've had the pleasure of_ watching _._

_Brooke… There are things I have to do and places I have to go, and some of those places are places that you can't go, or you'll die. But if I can take you with me somewhere, I will. If you… if you want—_

She placed a finger against his lips, and though he hadn't been speaking physically, he got her message. _Where you go,_ she told him, _I will follow._ A line came to her, a line from the Bible she hadn't thought of in a long time. She smiled and looked down at him. _You know the whole Bible, don't you? Even if it's mostly wrong?_

_Yes._

She nodded, and recited: _And Ruth said: "Entreat me not to leave thee, or to return from following after thee; for whither thou goest, I will go, and where thou lodgest, I will lodge. Thy people shall be my people…_

Brooke stopped, before finishing the verse, and shook her head, chagrined.

Castiel sat up a little in the bed and placed a finger under her chin to make her look at him. He spoke aloud, and though his voice was scratchy, he sounded strong enough. "Thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God."

Brooke gave Castiel a small smile. "Who needs him?"

She felt the twinge of sadness in him, but there was a strength rising in him, as well, and the wound in his heart was not quite so raw. He kept his finger beneath her chin, and his thumb caressed her jaw for a moment.

"Guys!"

Brooke jumped at the sound of Sam's voice, and turned to look at him.

"Dean _left_!"


	26. Chapter 26

_Twenty-six_

It took days to find Dean, even with Sam tracking him down, and when they finally found him, he was pissed. They got him to Bobby's quickly, afterwards, where he proceeded to bitch and moan about the fact that he was ready to become Michael's vessel, and how they should all just give up and stop running away. Brooke stayed at the fringes of Bobby's library, where they were all standing around, because she knew she wasn't really in this fight. She was here for Castiel, and that was basically the only reason. The last time she'd decided to go off with Sam and Dean, she'd had to get her car back first, and then by the time she'd met up with them, Castiel had appeared at exactly the same time. Like it or not (which she did) they seemed bound together in ways even they didn't understand.

Castiel left Bobby's for a little while to go see if he suss out some information, and Brooke stood to go with him. He stopped her, reminding her that there were some places that she could not go, or she'd be at grave risk of being killed. Nodding silently, Brooke went back to sitting in a chair in the corner of the library, and she remained there, quiet and out of the way, until Castiel returned.

He was mildly injured, which she noticed first, before anything else. But the more obvious thing was that he was carrying what looked to be a dead body over his shoulder. A dead body that was covered in dirt. "Help!" he called, getting the attention of Sam and Dean.

Castiel dropped the body onto the bed that had become Bobby's new sleeping place, since he couldn't go upstairs anymore. Sam and Dean had come into the library, and were standing over the body with shocked looks on their faces. Brooke came over to stand beside Castiel, silently, though her mind was reeling with questions. Bobby wheeled himself over to the bed, stared at the body, and then looked up at them all. "Who is it?" he asked.

Sam took a step closer to the bed. "That's our brother."

"Wait a minute," Bobby said, slowly. He stared up at Sam and Dean. "Your _brother_? _Adam_?"

_What the fuck?_ Brooke asked, though she wasn't really talking to Castiel.

"Cass, what the hell?" Dean said, turning to him.

Castiel pulled two Angel Blades out of his coat and slammed down on the table. "Angels," he said, as if that explained everything.

" _Angels_ ," Sam repeated. "Why?"

Castiel shook his head, and Brooke could feel his mind spinning, trying to piece everything together. "I know one thing for sure," he said, walking around the table to stand over Adam, who was still passed out. "We need to hide him _now_." He placed his hand on the boy's chest, and Brooke knew he was inscribing the Enochian sigil into his ribs, to protect him from the eyes of the angels.

The procedure woke Adam up. His eyes flew open and he grunted in pain as Castiel finished the sigil. Then he scrambled upright, staring around at all of them.

"Where am I?" he demanded.

###

Brooke had stayed out of everybody's way all night, sitting on the couch in the living room and, mostly, twiddling her thumbs. Castiel came to sit beside her for a few minutes at some point, and Brooke sort of laughed at him.

_What is it?_ he asked her.

_I feel for the kid_ , she explained. _We've all put him in the same position I was in, over a year ago, now. Here's this human, who might have some special power that could be used against him, or against demons, or against angels, or against the Earth. So here comes Castiel, to save the day, and drag him back to Bobby's, to sit. And wait. And twiddle his thumbs while the world goes on around him. Sound familiar?_

Castiel didn't say anything, but she could feel his discomfort at being reminded of his early interactions with her.

_Now, I don't regret what happened,_ she went on, _but you have to know, just from knowing_ me _, that this can't be easy for Adam. He has no idea what's going on. He's been resurrected, dragged out of Heaven, and dumped into the laps of all these people he doesn't know, who claim to be family, who claim to be the good guys._ Brooke paused, and absently placed her hand atop one of Castiel's. _Even you weren't always a good guy, or didn't always do the right thing. Even_ I _didn't always trust you. I just… I feel bad for the kid, is all_.

Castiel was silent for a long while, thinking of all she had said. _We can't just hand him to Zachariah_ , he said, finally. _It would mean killing him. You know Zachariah doesn't care for the boy's well-being. He just wants to use him as Michael's vessel. Adam will die, even if Michael wins._

_I know_ , Brooke murmured, leaning her head against Castiel's shoulder. _And it matters that you're worried about him. It means you've changed. Grown. I'm proud of you._

Castiel felt all at once embarrassed, humbled, and proud of himself at the comment she'd made.

###

"So who are _you_?" Adam asked Brooke, as he paced about the kitchen later that night.

Brooke smiled ruefully. "The angels didn't tell you about me?" she asked. "The whore?"

Adam looked up at her, surprised, then he looked away. "The… angel whore," he said.

"That's the one."

"Yeah, they _really_ don't like you," he said.

"Yeah, well, they can all go to Hell."

There was a lull in the conversation for a while. Adam opened the fridge and riffled through it, then closed it without taking anything out. He leaned against the fridge door and studied her. "So what, you just follow all the big players around and… watch?"

Brooke shrugged. Adam had said it in an insulting kind of way, but he was also right. "There's a prophecy about me. I'm meant to be a witness—though to _what_ , no one is quite sure. Used to think I was supposed to witness the Apocalypse. Now…"

"Now _what_?''

Brooke hesitated, then figured she didn't have anything to lose. "Castiel. I'm meant to… witness Castiel."

Adam stared at her, then looked away. " _That's_ not creepy at all," he muttered.

"Listen, I don't get all of it, either, but…" She sighed. "Sam and Dean are trying to do right by you, okay? I never intended to get involved with them, or with Cass, either. But it happened. Stuff like that seems to happen a lot around the Winchesters. I sorta just roll with it. And they always do the right thing, in the end. Things seem to work out for them. Not always the small things, but the big things do. So if they think you're not meant to be Michael's vessel then… I'm inclined to believe them. And handing you to Michael would get you killed."

Adam sighed, rubbing his forehead with his fingers. "Nobody seems to get that I'm _fine_ with dying if it means saving the world from Lucifer."

Brooke slowly smiled at him, crossing her arms over her chest.

"What?" he snapped.

"And you think you're not a Winchester? Sacrificing yourself—that's a classic Winchester move, right there."

Adam sighed and walked out of the kitchen.

###

Brooke had been dozing on the couch, unable to fully sleep with so many people up and about in the house, but still tired enough to nap. It was very late at night. She didn't know how long she'd been asleep when _searing pain_ brought her awake. She sat bolt-upright on the couch and screamed, the Grace in her blood screeching horrendously and boiling her from the inside-out.

Everyone rushed to her side to see what was wrong, but there was one person missing. Rather, one angel. "C-Cass!" she gasped, her teeth clenched in pain. The pain was subsiding quickly, but it had overtaken her so completely that she now felt about ready to pass out.

Sam bolted down the stairs to go check on Dean in the panic room. Castiel had just gone down there to talk to him. Sam came back up a moment later, looking around at them all, wildly. "Dean's gone," he said. "And so is Cass. Dean used the blood sigil thing on him."

Sam grabbed his coat and keys, telling Bobby and Brooke to stay with Adam. "Dean can't have gone far," he said. "I'll find him."

Brooke was still partially recovering from Castiel being blasted three states away. She tried to reach out to him with her mind, but he was too far away. She felt not even a whisper. She got up, too wired to sleep now, and paced back and forth in the living room.

A few minutes after Sam left to find Dean, Adam disappeared from his bed. Brooke, still pacing, stopped when it happened. She felt the tiniest _blip_ in her mind: _Angel_. But by the time she took one step towards the library where the feeling had come from, it had gone. And so had Adam.

Sam returned about half an hour later without Dean, and was pissed that the angels had taken Adam. "What the hell, guys?" he yelled, looking between the two of them.

"Watch your tone, boy!" Bobby warned. "He was right in front of me, and then he disappeared into thin air. What did you want _me_ to do about it?"

Suddenly, a great wind rushed through the room. Brooke breathed a sigh of relief and turned to see Castiel standing in the library, supporting Dean, who looked like was unconscious.

"What the hell happened to _him_?" Sam asked.

"Me," said Castiel, and dumped Dean onto Bobby's bed.

"Jesus _Christ, Cass_ ," Brooke muttered, leaning over Dean to make sure he was still breathing. In her mind, she felt his acknowledgment of her irritation, but he did not apologize for beating the shit out of Dean.

"How did the angels grab Adam?" Bobby asked. "You branded his ribs, didn't you?"

"Yes," Castiel said. Adam must have tipped them somehow. In a dream, maybe."

Sam shook his head. "Well, where would they have taken him?"

###

Brooke and Castiel were standing out in Bobby's scrapyard, next to where she'd parked her car.

"You shouldn't come," Castiel said. "The place will be crawling with angels, and if they somehow sense your presence, their top priority will be distracting me by putting you in danger."

"I am not going to sit around twiddling my thumbs," she argued. "I'll stay out of the way, let you fight them, only come in if it seems like you're overwhelmed."

Castiel stared at her with a look somewhere between anger and condescension. "And what would you do, against multiple angels?"

Brooke shut off her brain and moved, thrusting her arm into Castiel's coat before he could react. A normal person, one who had not been around an angel's true form for as long as Brooke had, might not have been able to move fast enough. But Brooke had spent so long in Castiel's head that the way he thought about things had begun to wear off on her. Her timing, while still human, was slightly faster than even what Sam or Dean could pull off. She got her hand around the grip of his angel blade before he could push her away.

He held her now, tightly, but she already had the blade in her hand. She twisted her wrist, slicing through his coat pocket, and dug the tip of the blade into his side, though she did not puncture his skin.

He was breathing heavily, staring down at her.

"If you gave me one of my own," she said, "I could probably kill an angel or two before they took me down. I'm not a helpless little girl."

"I've saved you numerous times," he argued, still panting.

She poked his side with the tip of his angel blade, and flinched at the same time he did, feeling like she'd just poked _herself_.

"You weren't with me on a lot of my hunting trips," she said. "I kicked ass all by myself, without you."

He stared at her, his eyes smoldering. "So you take down an angel, maybe two. What then? There are at least five in that warehouse."

"Could always use my last resort," she said, matching his gaze. His face was very close to hers. She conjured a feeling of desperation and anger within herself, breathing very quickly, and felt the Grace in her blood vibrate in response. She saw Castiel's eyes glow blue-white, the Grace in him reacting to her.

"You can't use that," he growled, gripping her arms. "It might kill you."

"If I think I'm about to die, anyways…"

"Which is why you should stay here."

Brooke's grip on the angel blade tightened in anger. She ripped it out of his coat, tearing away from his grip on her arm, and brought it up to his neck, pressing the tip into his chin. "We're not arguing about this," she said, her voice low and dangerous. "I'm _coming_. I'm not letting you be gross and creepy and overprotective. Get the fuck over it."

Castiel breathed sharply, nostrils flaring, and knocked the angel blade from her hand. He grabbed her by the front of her shirt and yanked her towards him, kissing her roughly, shoving his tongue into her mouth.

She let him. She wrapped her arms around his neck, gasping in surprise when he grabbed her legs and lifted her up. She wrapped her legs around his middle. He began to walk, and a moment later, she was laying on the hood of her car. He pulled away from her long enough to growl, "You are infuriating sometimes," then shoved his tongue back in her mouth.

_If you think this is going to make me not go, you are very wrong_ , she told him in her head, tanging her fingers into his hair.

After another moment or two, whatever animalistic urge had come over him seemed to dissipate. He pulled away from her again, panting, and placed his forehead against hers, closing his eyes. "You're right. You should come. I said we should stay together when we can, and I still think that. This will be dangerous, and we might die, but that hasn't stopped us before." He opened his eyes and stared at her, his pupils dilated. "We should go back to Sam and Dean." He stood up properly and held out a hand for her.

With a grin, she leaned back against the hood of the car. "We should wait another minute or two," she told him.

"Why?"

She kept her eyes on his face for a moment, and then trailed her gaze down to his crotch.

He looked down at himself, and then up again, and cleared this throat. "Oh. Right."

###

"Where the hell are we?" Dean asked, after Castiel teleported them all to the right location.

"Van Nuys, California."

"Where the beautiful room?"

"In there." They all looked up to see a ramshackle warehouse coming up on their right.

"The beautiful room is in an abandoned muffler factory in Van Nuys, California?"

"Where did you think it was?" Castiel asked.

"I-I don't know, Jupiter? A blade of grass? Not _Van Nuys_."

"Tell me again," said Sam, "why you don't just grab Adam and shazam the hell out of there."

Castiel looked at him like he was missing his brain. "Because there are at least five angels in there."

"So?" Dean asked. "You're fast."

Castiel looked at him. "They're faster."

Then came the stupid plan that Castiel had come up with. Brooke hated this plan with every fiber of her being, but she knew she was being ridiculous, the same way Cass had been ridiculous not wanting her to come.

He pulled off his tie, bunched it up, and shoved it in his coat pocket. "I'll clear them out. You three grab the boy. This is our only chance."

"Whoa, wait," Dean said. "You're gonna take on _five_ angels?"

Castiel stared at him. "Yes."

Dean glanced around with something like a smile, as if he had missed something. "Isn't that suicide?"

"Maybe it is," Castiel said. "But then I won't have to watch you _fail_."

And that was the moment when Brooke realized that so much of Castiel's anger towards her earlier had had nothing to do with her. Castiel was far more worried about Dean, and him saying yes to Michael, than he was about Brooke dying. But Cass had already beat the shit out of Dean, so there hadn't really been much else for him to do to release his anger—other than… making out with her, she supposed.

"I'm sorry, Dean," Castiel continued. "I don't have the same faith in you that Sam does."

Castiel and Dean stared at one another for a long, intense moment, then Cass pulled the boxcutter out of his pocket.

"What the hell you gonna do with _that_?" Sam asked.

Brooke turned away and put her hands on her hips. "I can't watch this," she muttered.

Castiel turned to her and put a hand on her shoulder. "I'm using a regular blade, not an angel blade. It won't hurt me, much."

"I know," she said, keeping her back to him. "Just hurry up. It won't hurt you but it'll hurt _me_."

"All right," he said, and began to open the buttons of his shirt.

###

"One angel down," Brooke murmured to Sam and Dean, about thirty seconds after Castiel had gone in. She was trying to keep calm, though she felt nauseous, knowing what was coming.

She felt them circling Castiel, and she balled her hands into fists. She didn't think she would feel the pain of the other angels, but she would feel Castiel's pain—Grace to Grace—just as she had when Dean had put the sigil on the wall of the panic room and used it to escape from Bobby's house.

_What are you waiting for?_ she heard Castiel say, as the angels continued to circle. _Come on_.

She had about one second to prepare, then she slammed her hand over her mouth to stop herself from screaming. She blacked out, or must have, because when she came to, Sam was holding her up. "Come on," he said, shaking her a little.

Brooke stood up properly, swaying a little, and trying not to cry, and followed Sam and Dean inside the warehouse. The tears were not from pain, but rather from knowing what Castiel had just done to himself. Her pain was only residual; she could not even imagine what it must have felt like for _him_.

###

The plan to take down Zachariah did not go as planned, which everyone had sort of expected. Sam and Brooke went in after Dean, Brooke holding back at the door. She was the last-last resort, and she had to be extra careful. The marking on her ribs protected her from angels trying to pinpoint her location, but Castiel wasn't sure whether his Grace would tip an angel off to her whereabouts if she was already nearby.

Sam was slammed to the floor by Zachariah in a second. Brooke came in afterwards and threw the angel blade Castiel had given her at Zachariah, knowing she'd never get up close fast enough. It grazed his shoulder, and he yelled in pain, grasping at the wound as light poured out of it.

Brooke was not in tune with every angel the way she was with Castiel, but she could feel the Grace in her body vibrating strangely, at odds with the Grace inside Zachariah. He was pissed and he was about to kill her. She was not in the room, but instead, standing in the doorway. So, she ran, hoping that the distraction would help Sam or Dean finish Zachariah off.

Zachariah didn't come after her, presumably distracted by Dean. She stayed far away, at the door of the warehouse, watching the tiny room, and listening.

###

In the end, Adam was taken by Michael. Zachariah had been killed by Dean, but that was hardly consolation. Brooke sat in the back of the Impala as they drove away, thinking about Adam and all he had sacrificed only to be taken. He had died; he had spent over a year in Heaven, happy; he had been resurrected, against his will, by a bunch of whimpering angels; he had trusted Sam and Dean, and Castiel and Brooke, to keep him safe. And they had failed him.


	27. Chapter 27

_Twenty-seven_

None of them had heard anything from Cass for weeks. Sam and Dean were convinced that he was dead, despite the fact that Brooke had explained to them over and over again that she would _know_ if he had died. What she had experienced as he was blasted away by the sigil carved into his chest had been pain, but not death. Still, even if she knew he was alive, not knowing where he was or in what condition was nerve-wracking. She'd been out of commission from hunting since the incident with Adam and Zachariah. Worrying about Castiel on top of feeling horrible about what happened to Adam and really fucked up her brain.

As if in reaction to her worry, she got a call out of the blue one day. She didn't recognize the number, but, in her line of work, that was pretty normal. She flipped the phone open, running her fingers through her hair as she lay in the back of her car. "Brooke Harris."

"Brooke."

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "Castiel. I _knew_ you were alive."

"Yes," he said. "I'm—I'm in a hospital."

She paused. "You're… what?" The idea of Castiel, an _angel_ , being in a hospital was incongruous with the image of Cass that she carried around in her brain.

He explained what had happened to him—how he'd been found unconscious in a boat and taken to a hospital; how he'd just woken up after weeks of being there; how the doctors had thought he was brain-dead.

"I hate it," he muttered.

"You hate what?"

"How do you deal with all this every day?" he demanded, without answering her question. "Being… hungry, in pain, tired. It's… exhausting. Confusing."

Brooke stared out the windshield of her car. "Did you lose your angel powers?"

"Temporarily. I need to get to Sam and Dean but I can't teleport, and I don't have any money."

"Does Dean know where you are?"

"Yes, I called him already. But he can't come and help me. He and Sam are going after Pestilence."

Brooke smiled and shook her head. "What hospital are you in?"

He told her.

"All right, it'll take a day to reach you. Can you just… wait there, for that long? Give them my name if they ask you if you have any contacts."

There was a long sigh on the other end of the line. "Yes," he said. "I'll wait."

###

Castiel looked awful when Brooke arrived at the hospital. He was very pale, with bags under his eyes, and there were bruises and cuts all over him. Plus, he looked very grumpy. He was sitting up in the hospital bed, very still. Very Castiel-like. But, as she watched him, he began to fidget, scratching at a bandaid on his arm, making a face that perfectly portrayed how uncomfortable he felt.

Brooke couldn't simply watch him any longer. Her heart went out to him. It really sucked to be human sometimes. She knocked on the doorframe and entered the room. He looked over at her… and smiled. "I'm glad you're here," he told her.

She stared at him, her feet temporarily glued to the floor. "Man, you really _are_ human."

Castiel tilted his head to the side, squinting at her in confusion.

That simple act, alone, nearly made her burst into tears. She moved closer to him, wanting to touch him but unsure which parts of him _weren't_ in pain. She could _feel_ , just from being near him, that he was different. Fragile. Not quite as fragile as a real human, but, he was the most fragile that she had ever seen him.

She sat down, slowly, in the chair beside his bed, and stared at him.

He stared back at her for a time, but could no longer hold it the way he used to, too busy shifting in the hospital bed, scratching at the bandaid…

"This is so weird…" Brooke muttered.

"What?"

" _You_ ," she said. " _You're_ weird."

Castiel didn't say anything, but he glanced at her out of the corner of his eye and gave her a scathing look. He felt almost normal, in that moment.

Brooke smiled. " _There_ you are."

But there was something big missing, and she couldn't ignore it. Their mental connection was missing, and it hurt her like an amputated limb, just as it had the last time it had been cut off. Of course, when he went far away, their connection was severed. But never, in a long time, had she been physically near him without feeling and hearing his mind. She had gotten used to that constant chanting of Enochian, she'd gotten used to sifting through his thoughts and memories and emotions to get at the heart of things, she had gotten used to ignoring his constant stream of thoughts if he wanted privacy. She had gotten very good at ignoring him while he was thinking, enough that he could think something right into her brain and she might miss it if she wasn't paying attention, like when you stop paying attention to the teacher in class, even while they keep droning on.

She gazed at him sadly, and realized, with a jolt, that he knew nothing of what she'd just been thinking. She'd have to _tell_ him. Out loud. They often spoke aloud to each other, simply because Brooke's usual mode of communication was speaking aloud. Humans were't able to just think directly at each other, so even with Castiel, she often spoke with her voice, and he'd grown used to switching back and forth. But even then, everything they spoke aloud was also thought to one another, and it added another layer of communication. Words were only words, but thoughts could include images, smells, memories, music, emotions… They often "spoke" to each other in a flurry of non-verbal thoughts.

Now, being disconnected from Castiel this way, Brooke wasn't sure she knew _how_ to speak to him only as humans spoke to each other. It felt so… inadequate.

Castiel had been watching her this whole time, and had stilled a little more than before. He still looked very human—tired, pale, in pain—but there was a little bit of that old spark in his eye. "What is it?" he asked her.

She really did start to cry as she watched him, shaking her head. "I miss you," she said. "You _have_ to know what I mean—

"I _know_ what you mean," he said. "I hate it, too."

She looked up at him and saw him through blurry vision. He reached out and cupped her face in his hand—

Both of them gasped as Castiel's dormant Grace rose to meet its twin in her body. That old feeling of a buzzing, electric current returned. Thoughts flowed between them like two separate river currents, or a two-like highway. They sat like for some time, his hand raised to her cheek, sharing thoughts with one another.

There was a knock on the door. Brooke jumped and turned in her seat, to see a doctor standing in the doorway. "Hey, there," he said, with a smile, and entered the room. "I see you made it, Miss… Harris?"

Brooke stood up to greet the doctor. "Yes," she said, shaking his hand.

"Well, I'm glad you got here, because Jimmy, here, kept asking if you'd arrived yet." The doctor gave her a grin.

Brooke froze, momentarily, trying to figure out who Jimmy was, then she realized Castiel had given the doctors James Novak's name. Probably smart. _Castiel_ wasn't exactly a normal name, and giving them no last name might have caused problems. He could have pretended he didn't remember, but that would have entailed more tests to see what was wrong with his memory.

Brooke turned to look down at Castiel, who was looking around the room, and avoiding eye-contact with her. She brushed his face with her fingers, and felt his embarrassment at having bothered every nurse who walked past his door to see if Brooke had arrived at the hospital in the last four hours. She laughed a little, pulling her hand away. Castiel looked entirely put out at being laughed at, his mouth set in a grim line. She reached out and brushed his cheek again, saying, _Don't be grumpy_.

"So, what's wrong with him?" Brooke asked the doctor.

He went through all of Castiel's injuries, including the fact that the doctors were all baffled as to how he had woken up, since they'd thought he was braindead. "It's a miracle," the doctor said.

Brooke smiled in amusement, closing her eyes for a moment. "Maybe Jimmy's got an _angel_ watching over him." She opened her eyes and glanced at him, winking.

He side-eyed her, saying nothing, though one corner of his mouth lifted slightly.

"Mostly, he needs rest, and a good meal," the doctor went on. "He needs to stay overnight tonight, but after that, if everything goes well, you can take him home."

Brooke nodded. "That's a relief."

They let her sleep in Castiel's hospital room that night, seeing as he wasn't sharing the room with any other patients. She curled up in a chair with a hospital blanket over her, and scooted the chair near enough to him so that they could reach out and touch each other if they wanted to.

In the morning, Brooke awoke suddenly when Castiel tore himself out of the bed and stumbled to the bathroom like he was about to puke. She scrambled out of the chair, wondering if she should call for a nurse, when she heard the sound of urine hitting the water in the toilet. Sighing, she sat back down and waited. He came back into the room a minute later, but she sent him back into the bathroom to wash his hands. When he returned again, she said, "How long did you have to pee?"

"I'm… not sure. I'm still not used to it."

She smiled and shook her head at him. "I bet you're starving, too."

He stood there in the doorway of the bathroom, leaning against it, and looked at his feet for a moment. "Yes," he said, looking back up at her. "I _am_ starving. I hate this feeling."

She laughed.

He stood in the doorway, still, and glared at her from across the room. "Why does my pain amuse you so much?" he demanded.

Rolling her eyes, she stood up and went to him, pressing her forehead to his, opening the gateway between their minds. This was a much easier and faster way of explaining why she'd been laughing at him for the past twenty-four hours. _I've gotten so used to you being and acting a certain way that this is strange for me,_ she told him. _I've never seen you so unsettled, so fidgety… so human. Your pain doesn't amuse me, but your utterly human reaction to the need to urinate, to hunger… it's sorta funny._

_I don't understand your sense of humor,_ he replied.

_That's literally impossible, since you can read all of my thoughts and emotions._

_Let me rephrase. I don't appreciate your sense of humor._

Brooke laughed, breaking away from him and severing their mental connection. "Come on, grumpy. Let's get you some food."

###

Brooke's alone time with Castiel didn't last nearly as long as she would have liked, but nothing could help that. After signing some paperwork using Jimmy's name, Castiel had been released from the hospital with a warning that he still needed lots of bedrest. Brooke knew, even despite not being able to read his mind, that he didn't plan on resting. They stopped at a diner long enough to get him fed—he ate like a man possessed until he saw her staring—and then they were off to the hospital where Sam and Dean were scouting out Pestilence.

On the drive there, Castiel fell asleep in the passenger seat and Brooke turned the radio off. She kept her eyes on the road, but sometimes glanced over at him, noting the way his head was slowly sliding down one side of the back of the seat. His breathing deepened. Sometimes his eyelids twitched—he was dreaming. In those small glances, Brooke felt herself, somehow, fall deeper in love with him. He looked so innocent while asleep, and, with his Grace so low and dormant, she could hardly see his light. He looked almost completely human, but small and childlike. Someone who needed protection.

Going after Pestilence while Castiel was still so weak could end up being a suicide run. But everything any of them ever did was a suicide run. She and the Winchesters hunted monsters for a living. They almost-died nearly every day. Castiel, too, had often been in life or death situations long before he'd ever met them all. But he'd always had his powers. Now, he was nearly human, and still injured and weak.

As she drove, thinking of Castiel in his current state, her mind seemed to enter a trance, and she began to pray:

_He that dwelleth in the secret place of the most High shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty. / I will say of the Lord, He is my refuge and my fortress: my God; in him will I trust. / Surely he shall deliver thee from the snare of the fowler, and from the noisome pestilence…_

It had been a long time since she'd read a Bible, and the rest of the psalm was slipping her mind, but it seemed fitting, what with them about to go fight actual Pestilence.

Castiel's voice shocked her, and she had to steady herself quickly or lose control of the car. His voice started out hoarse from disuse and the fact that he had just woken up. "He shall cover thee with his feathers, and under his wings shalt thou trust: his truth shall be thy shield and buckler. / Thou shalt not be afraid for the terror by night; nor for the arrow that flieth by day; / Nor for the pestilence that walketh in darkness; nor for the destruction that wasteth at noonday."

Slowly, his voice grew more confident, yet softer the longer he spoke. A rare gentleness had begun to make itself known in his voice. "A thousand shall fall at thy side, and ten thousand at thy right hand; but it shall not come nigh thee. / Only with thine eyes shalt thou behold and see the reward of the wicked. / Because thou hast made the Lord, which is my refuge, even the most High, thy habitation; / There shall no evil befall thee, neither shall any plague come nigh thy dwelling."

His voice suddenly grew stronger, and he reached out his fingers for her and brushed her arm. A sense of love of protection washed over her. Castiel continued: "For he shall give his angels charge over thee, to keep thee in all thy ways. / They shall bear thee up in their hands, lest thou dash thy foot against a stone. / Thou shalt tread upon the lion and adder: the young lion and the dragon shalt thou trample under feet. / Because he hath set his love upon me, therefore will I deliver him: I will set him on high, because he hath known my name. / He shall call upon me, and I will answer him: I will be with him in trouble; I will deliver him, and honor him. / With long life will I satisfy him, and shew him my salvation."

They were both silent for a long time after he finished speaking.

"I didn't mean to wake you," Brooke finally said, quietly.

"I don't mind," he said.

"But how did you even hear me? You can't hear my thoughts right now."

"I'm, apparently, still enough of an angel to hear it when prayers are directed at me. Or _about_ me. Your prayer for protection was for me, so I… heard it."

Brooke was silent again for a while, then she murmured. "I'm sorry."

"Why?"

"For… praying to _God_ for your protection. I know you're… not exactly happy with him right now."

"If the prayer comforts you, then I don't mind it. And I… appreciate your concern for my safety."

"We could die, going into this," she said.

"Yes."

"I love you."

He turned his head to look at her, though she kept her eyes on the road. "I love you too."

###

The closer they got the room in which Pestilence stood, the sicker they each became. That was how they knew where he was. For once, they seemed to be on equal ground; Brooke was a human, but was made stronger by Castiel's Grace, and Castiel was an angel, made weaker by own, dormant Grace, and his injuries. They rushed through the halls, fighting the urge to vomit or fall to their knees, dragging each other along, supporting one another, sometimes physically, and sometimes emotionally. They held hands, and, when necessary, slung each other's arms around themselves and pulled themselves forward.

They burst open the door behind which Pestilence lurked and found Sam and Dean on the floor there, already.

"Glad you guys made it," Dean said, ever sarcastic, even despite the fact that he was on his hands and knees, coughing up blood.

"Don't worry," Castiel said, hobbling forward with Brooke. "I—

As one being, they both fell to their knees in the same instant. They both coughed, and coughed again. Blood splattered the floor from both their mouths.

Pestilence bent down to smile at Castiel, ignoring Brooke (they always ignored Brooke). "Well, look at that," said Pestilence. "An occupied vessel, but powerless. Oh, that's fascinating." He grinned wider, arrogance clear in his tone. "There's not a speck of angel in you, is there?"

Brooke, her shoulder touching his, felt Castiel's mind shift. She knew he was about to do something stupid, something that needed to be done. She gripped his hand for a moment, offering her strength—what little she had. _Go_ , she said.

Castiel grabbed the dagger lying on the floor at Pestilence's feet, the one that one of the Winchesters had presumably already tried to use on him. He charged to his feet and slammed the Horseman's hand down on the table, slicing through his fingers, severing the finger that held the ring. "Maybe just a speck of angel," Castiel growled.

Pestilence screamed and turned away, clutching his hand. The nurse in the room, the one possessed by a demon that Brooke had noticed but given no attention to, charged at Castiel, falling upon him. Brooke lunged for her, but she was already dead, having fallen atop the dagger still clutched in Castiel's hand.

Brooke looked around wildly, keeping Pestilence in her sights. Sam and Dean got up off the floor, Pestilence's magic no longer working on them. Dean picked up the ring finger off the table, gazing at the ring.

"It's too late," Pestilence said, still clutching his hand, but his voice had gone soft. Then he vanished.


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Penultimate chapter! Look for Book Two soon, titled: Kept.

_Twenty-eight_

Bobby had sold his soul to Crowley in order to find the location of Death, the Horseman. Brooke was just as upset as everyone else about it, but the deed was already done, and Crowley was, so far, refusing to give Bobby's soul back. He said he needed it as insurance, to prevent the Winchesters from murdering him. Honestly, there was part of that statement that Brooke could sort of understand. She knew, if given the chance, that Sam or Dean would kill Crowley in a second. She knew how ruthless they could be. And she knew that, if given the chance, if Bobby ever had his soul returned safely to his body, that _she_ would murder Crowley just as quickly as Sam or Dean would.

But Crowley was the least of the worries at the moment. Now that they knew Death's location, they scattered around Bobby's house to gather supplies and prepare. Castiel and Brooke helped Bobby pack the van as Sam and Dean went off to pack the Impala. Castiel paused in the middle of loading the van and stood there beside it, sighing.

Brooke knew what was wrong with him. He had thought—or perhaps only hoped—that his powers would have returned by now, on their own. But they hadn't. He still needed to eat, sleep… shit. And he hated it all. Brooke felt for him, but she knew there was nothing she could say or do that would make him feel better about any of it. He'd been moping around Bobby's house for hours, now, and she'd remained by his side, like always, but had been decidedly quiet. Sometimes one simply needed to… sulk.

But Bobby had noticed his attitude, also, and was not as giving as Brooke. "What's _your_ problem?" he demanded of Castiel, noticing that the angel had stopped packing.

"This is what they mean by 'the eleventh hour,' right?" Castiel asked.

"Pretty much," Bobby said, riffling through the bag in his lap.

"Well, it's the eleventh hour, and I am… useless," Cass said. He looked at the shotgun in his hands and sighed again, dejectedly. "All I have is this. What am I even supposed to do with it?"

Bobby glared at him. "Point it and shoot," he said.

Castiel shook his head. "What I used to be—

"Are you really gonna bitch—to _me_?"

Brooke moved about the van, letting their interaction play out. She remained a shadow, in the background, watching and listening, but pretending that she was doing neither.

Bobby wheeled his chair closer to Castiel and threw the bag in his lap at Castiel.

Castiel caught it, barely.

"Quit pining for the varsity years and load the damn truck," Bobby snapped, and wheeled away.

Castiel stared after him for a moment, then sighed again and threw the bag into the back of the van.

"Hey," Brooke said, after Bobby had left. She came around to Castiel's side of the van and took his face in her hands, bringing his forehead down to touch hers. She still knew that there were really no words that would make any of this okay to Castiel, but the least she could do was offer her emotional support. Once touching, she could feel his pain, the indignity he was experiencing at being reduced to… a human.

" _I'm_ a human, you know," she reminded him, with a smile.

"Yes," he agreed. "A human who is more of an angel than _I_ am, at this point."

She pulled away from him, struck with a sudden idea. "Take your Grace back," she told him.

He shook his head immediately. "I've already told you, the Grace that I gave you is tied your life force. Taking it from your body could kill you, or leave you paralyzed, or brain dead. You could also be fine, but I'm not willing to take that risk."

She sighed. "Fine."

They stood there silently together for a moment, then he placed his forehead against hers again, and breathed. She joined him, taking those five slow, deep breaths.

Still touching her, he told her, _I know I don't always seem appreciative of you… but I am._

_I know you are._

He reached up and touched her face. _Just don't…_ He fell silent.

_What?_ she asked, gently.

_Promise me you'll stay by my side._

She smiled. _What do you think I've been doing the past two years? Wow. Has it really almost been two years? Time flies._

He pulled away from her to look down at her, but kept a hand on her face. He brought up his other hand, too. "I mean it," he said, his voice strangely harsh. "Promise me you'll stay by my side… no matter what. Please."

Brooke had never heard him so vulnerable before. She assumed this demand of his had to do with the fact that he was now, for all intents and purposes, human. He was feeling his emotions more strongly than he had before. And he was feeling mortal. He was beginning to understand, a little, what it was like to wake up and be human every day, with the understanding that every human had: that they would die, eventually.

She reached up to cup his face in her own hands. "Do you think that I stopped loving you somewhere along the way just because you lost your angel powers?" she asked. "Do you think that our bond is so weak that, the moment you stop being interesting, I no longer care for you?"

Brooke could feel his doubt trickling into her mind. He turned away from her, dropping his hands, but she, who still cupped his face, yanked his chin back towards her. "You listen to me, Castiel. Angel or not, you are mine, and I am yours, now, and forever. We are bound to one another, through your Grace, through our thoughts and feelings. No one on Earth knows me better than you do, and I'd argue that no one on Earth _or in Heaven_ knows you better than I do. I would _die_ for you, long before I would ever die for Sam, or Dean, or Bobby, or my own mother. As _un_ -proud as I am of that, it's the truth. You are almost human now, and you are probably weaker than I am… and I _don't care_. I will get us through this Apocalypse if I have to drag your bloody corpse to the gates of Heaven and _demand_ that God bring you back. You are _mine_ , and no one else's."

As she had spoken, the Grace in her blood had begun to hum more strongly, and by the time she was done speaking, she could feel it shaking in her fingertips where she touched Castiel's face. She could see his eyes, glowing blue-white in in response to her. He closed them, and seemed to absorb part of her energy into himself. He stood taller, his jaw set, and she could see, just _barely_ , his wings unfold and stretch out.

_"_ There you are," she said, her voice fierce, and pulled his face down to kiss him.

###

By the end of the next day, they had stopped Pestilence's plan to distribute thousands of fake vaccines carrying the Croatoan virus, and Dean had met with Death and come out of it alive. Death had agreed to give up his ring, and shown Dean how all the rings combined created a trap for Lucifer. Now all that was left was… actually trapping Lucifer, which, apparently, was going to entail Sam agreeing to become his vessel, then taking back control of his body once Lucifer was in it and throwing himself into the cage.

Everyone thought it was a terrible idea, but it was the only one they had. It wasn't as though they could simply ask Lucifer, politely, to get back into the cage of his own free will.

The first part of the plan included finding and killing a bunch of demons so that they could collect their blood, since, apparently, the only way Sam would be strong enough to take control of Lucifer once Lucifer entered his body was by drinking a metric fuck-ton of demon blood. No one was happy about that part either, but if Sam _didn't_ imbibe a bunch of demon blood he wouldn't be strong enough to throw himself into the pit.

Brooke spent most of her time trying not to think about the fact that either: they would _all_ die trying to stop the Apocalypse and then the Apocalypse would happen… or Sam would end up sacrificing himself to prevent it, and they would have to go on with their lives without him. Forever. She didn't know Sam very well, but she still hated the idea that the only way out of the Apocalypse was for him to throw himself into Hell for the rest of eternity…

###

Brooke and Castiel ended up in the back of the Impala on the drive to Detroit. Brooke had her own car, and would have taken it, but it was obvious that Castiel did not want to be separated from Sam or Dean on the way. At some point during the drive, he fell asleep, something that Brooke still could not get used to, though she enjoyed watching him. Eventually, though, she also grew sleepy, and gave into the feeling. She placed her head against his shoulder and he seemed to move closer to her, automatically, placing his head atop hers. A steady flow of slow thoughts drifted into her mind, and that deep Enochian chanting, which sounded so much like a church choir, lulled her to sleep.

###

They all stood around the Impala, parked in some back alley, not wanting to continue on but knowing that they needed to. These were their last goodbyes. Sam spoke to Bobby first, who told him fight Lucifer tooth and nail the moment that Lucifer entered his body. They hugged, and Brooke turned away, trying not to cry.

Sam came up to them, next, holding out his hand for Castiel to shake. "Take care of these guys, okay?" he asked.

Castiel stared sadly at Sam and then sighed. "That's not possible," he murmured.

Sam chuckled, grasping Castiel's hand. "Then humor me."

Castiel stared at Sam for a moment longer, and Brooke, despite not touching him, could almost hear the wheels in his brain turning. "Oh," he said. "I was supposed to lie… Uh… Sure, they'll be fine." He forced a smile.

Brooke closed her eyes, laughing, and tried not to smack the angel for his lack of human understanding.

"Just—just stop… talking," Sam muttered, letting go of his hand.

Brooke came forward and hugged Sam before he could stop her. "That's from both of us," she said.

Sam smiled at her a little awkwardly. Of the two brothers, Brooke would have said that she and Sam were more friendly with each other, though they had hardly spoken. "Listen," he said. "You and Cass stick together, okay? He's better when you're around."

Brooke smiled back at him. "Will do," she said, and took hold of Castiel's hand.

###

The plan didn't work—not that any of them had really expected it to. Still, it had been a blow for all of them. They wandered the streets of Detroit as a morose group. They found a TV on in an electronics store, set to the news, and watched as more and more natural disasters happened around the world. Brooke had never let go of Castiel's hand, and she could feel him sinking deeper and deeper into depression.

"It's starting," he said.

Dean turned to him. "Yeah, you think, genius?"

Castiel glanced at him over his shoulder with a frown. "You don't have to be mean."

"So what do we do now?" Dean asked.

Castiel stopped, shaking his head, and Brooke felt him sink even deeper into himself. "I suggest we imbibe copious quantities of alcohol… and just wait for the inevitable blast wave."

"Yes, well, thank you, Bukowski. I-I mean, how do we _stop_ it?"

Castiel turned around and stared at Dean, uncomprehending. "We don't. Lucifer _will_ meet Michael on the chosen field, and the battle of Armageddon begins."

"Okay, well, where's this chosen field?"

"I don't know," Castiel said, shaking his head and turning away again.

"Well there's gotta be _something_ that we can do!" Dean was angry and simultaneously close to tears now.

Castiel looked up to the heavens for a moment, and he squeezed Brooke's hand—hard—trying to find something to ground himself with. "I'm sorry, Dean," he said, turning back to him again. "This is over—

"You listen to me, you junkless sissy—we are _not_ giving up!"

Castiel turned away from Dean again, with a sad, mirthless smile.

Dean spun around. "Bobby?" he tried, looking at the man.

But Bobby was just as downtrodden as the rest of the them, his eyes shining with unshed tears.

" _Bobby_?" Dean tried again.

Bobby stared up at Dean, and then around at all of them, and Brooke squeezed her eyes shut so she wouldn't have to look at his face. "There was never much hope to begin with," he said. "I don't know what else to do."

Dean seemed to finally give up, then, and he went silent.

Brooke sighed, still holding back her own tears, and hid her face in Castiel's shoulder. He turned to her and pulled her into a hug, and they stood like that for some time.

_If we die_ , he said to her, _we die together._

###

Dean, as it turned out, had _not_ given up. They found him back at the Impala after he'd gone off by himself for a while, and from the looks of it, he was about to take off without them.

"You goin' someplace?" Bobby asked, as they approached the car.

Dean turned to look at them, then looked away again without saying anything, his eyes downcast.

"You're gonna do somethin' _stupid_ ," Bobby surmised. "You got that look."

Dean turned to look at him. "I'm gonna go talk to Sam."

"You just don't give up…"

"It's _Sam_!" Dean shouted, glaring at Bobby.

Castiel moved closer to Dean. "If you couldn't reach him here, you're certainly not gonna be able to on the battlefield."

Dean looked at him, his gaze challenging. "Well, if we've already lost, I guess I got nothin' to lose, right?"

Castiel said nothing for a moment, then he said, quietly, "I just want you to understand—the _only_ thing that you're gonna see out there is Michael killing your brother."

Dean looked at Cass, nodding, his expression set. "Well, then, I ain't gonna let him die alone." He stared around at them all for a moment.

Brooke wished she could think of something to say, though she knew nothing would suffice.

Dean turned and got into the car.

###

They hemmed and they hawed and, eventually, they followed Dean to Stull Cemetery. One last chance; one last fight. They pulled up maybe a minute or two after him. Cass and Brooke had sat in the back of the van, preparing a litany of weapons, which mostly contained some amount of holy oil, as it was the only thing they could think of that would work against an Archangel. Castiel created a slew of molotov cocktails, which he seemed proud of…

And it was a molotov cocktail that got him killed.

Brooke, Bobby, and Castiel parked the van farther away and got out to approach on foot, trying to be inconspicuous and hoping that Dean's loud, musical entrance would mask them from the attentions of Michael or Lucifer. By the time they were up-close, both the Archangels were sufficiently distracted, or simply didn't care that the others were there.

Castiel took the time to light a molotov cocktail. No one noticed. Not even Brooke, who, despite having Castiel's Grace as a shield, was still affected by the presence of two Archangels in the same place. If Castiel had been at full power, all three of them might have overwhelmed her.

"You little maggot," Michael was saying, in the body of Adam. He began to approach Dean. "You are no longer a part of this story!"

Brooke didn't know what the hell Dean had said, but it was probably something impulsive.

"Hey! Assbutt!" Castiel shouted, and Brooke jumped and turned to look at him, surprised. It was the first time in months that he had done anything that she hadn't noticed. He held the molotov in his hand, lit and ready to go, and threw it as hard as he could at Michael.

Immediately, Brooke's ears and mind filled with the screams of Michael as he went up in the flame of holy fire. A ringing overlaid everything in Brooke's head. She turned away and covered her ears with her hands, willing the screaming to stop. A second later, Michael was no more.

Brooke took her hands away from her ears and turned to face everyone again. Dean, who had turned away from the fire, looked at Castiel. " _Assbutt_?" he said.

Castiel shrugged, breathing heavily. "He'll be back—

But Brooke could no longer hear anything. Her mind was filled, suddenly, with Lucifer's rage. It consumed her, overwhelming the barrier that Castiel's Grace usually provided. She stood, rooted to the spot, but shaking, as Lucifer stared at Castiel like a tiger about to pounce upon unsuspecting prey.

_No_ , she said to Lucifer, and he batted her away like a fly. She fell to the ground.

Castiel immediately knelt down beside her, and his mouth was moving, but all she heard was ringing in her ears.

"No," she said aloud, and felt her throat vibrate with the word, but she heard nothing. She reached up for Castiel, trying to touch him—to warn him—

His body exploded into pieces, raining blood and viscera down onto her. It got into her eyes, into her _mouth_. She wanted to scream and cry and vomit all at the same time. Lucifer's rage left her, but she still heard nothing, her own rage taking over now. Her vision went red, then white. She sat up, and screamed, and crawled onto her hands and knees, and stared at Lucifer. She got up, still screaming. Her blood boiled in her veins, and her bones vibrating. Castiel's Grace, his gift to her, came screeching to the surface of her body and mind. Her vision now, instead of red, was white. She saw nothing—heard nothing. All she knew was pain and rage, and she aimed it all at Lucifer.

Her arms were thrown back, her chest outward, as Castiel's Grace exploded out of her body, a shockwave that threw everyone off of their feet—everyone except Lucifer. Brooke fell to her knees as the last of the Grace left her. Her heart fluttered strangely, and then stopped. She stared up at Lucifer, who was smiling at her.

_Castiel_ , she thought, and died.


	29. Chapter 29

_Twenty-nine_

Brooke awoke, suddenly, gasping as if she'd been underwater for far too long. All around her was light, and there was nothing _but_ light. His light. Castiel's light. She had felt it, been around it, for so long that she knew it instinctively. But she had not felt it this strongly in a long time. Graceless since expending it all on Lucifer, she floated within his light, and it nearly blinded her.

Finally, after what could have been seconds, or hours, her eyes adjusted, her body adjusted. She felt herself being cradled in his arms and she looked up and saw his face. He smiled down at her, holding the back of her head in one hand, like a child.

He was beautiful. At one time, she might have also called him terrifying. But she had known him for two years, known his ins and outs, known his mind and his heart. His light was only beautiful, and it shone around her like the sun, warm and comforting and expansive.

_Brooke_ , he said, and his voice echoed in her mind a hundred times.

She gasped as his mind connected to hers, gasped as thoughts rushed past her and through her and around her like a river. It took true effort to concentrate when all she wanted to do was lose herself in him, as she had done the first time she had ever met him.

"You died," she whispered, unable to speak normally, for his presence overwhelmed everything within her.

_Yes. God brought me back._

_God…_ Brooke had to laugh at that, and she felt Castiel's joy at her laughter infiltrate her being. It felt orgasmic, that joy. She lost herself within it for a time, and then, slowly, came back to her own mind and body. _Are you sure_ you're _not God?_ she asked him.

_Dean asked me the same thing_ , Castiel said _As I told him, it's a nice compliment. But no._

She remained cradled in his arms for a while. _I'm sorry I used your Grace_.

_Don't be. I can give you more._

She stared into his face, reaching her hand up to touch it. _You would do that?_

He held her gaze. _Have you forgotten? I am yours, and you are mine. Now, and forever. Will you let me into your body?_

_Yes._

###

Now that the Apocalypse was over, Brooke felt as if her job of sticking around with the Winchesters had ended… especially since Sam Winchester was now in the Pit, along with Adam. Dean had no intention of continuing to Hunt, so Brooke didn't feel the need to stick around with him. He had a woman to go see, someone named Lisa. Her last goodbye with Dean was fairly unemotional. She hugged him—she felt they'd reached that point in their relationship—but there were no tears.

She was much more emotional with Bobby, who had been there for her since the beginning of all of this, back when Castiel had unceremoniously dropped her off at his house two years before.

Bobby pulled back from their hug and looked Brooke in the eye. "You keep in touch, you hear?" he said.

"Of course," Brooke replied, swiping at her tears. It wasn't like this would be the last time she'd see him. "I'll come over any time you want, Bobby. Make you food. Whatever you want, okay?"

"I'll hold you to that." He turned and glared at Castiel, who had walked off to give them space. "Get your angel ass over here."

Castiel walked over to them, looking warily at Bobby.

"You break this girl's heart, I'm gonna bend you over my knee—angel or no. Understand?" Bobby stared Castiel down in a way Brooke had never seen anyone stare Castiel down.

Cass squinted at Bobby, clearly unsure of how to respond to such a threat. "I—I don't…"

"Just tell him you understand," Brooke cut in, before Castiel made a complete fool of himself.

Cass glanced at her, then looked back at Bobby. "I… understand," he said, though he didn't sound very confident.

"Good," said Bobby.

###

A few days after everyone had split up, Brooke and Castiel made their way to a cemetery— _not_ Stull Cemetery, for they'd left Kansas far behind. There was no one here for Brooke to visit, but Castiel had confided in her that Jimmy Novak—the man whose body he had taken for the past two years—had died when Castiel had been killed. His soul had ascended to Heaven, and God, when bringing Castiel back to life, had simply recreated the body that he had grown used to in the past two years. It looked like Jimmy Novak, but Jimmy was no longer inside of it. It had become Castiel's body so long as he was on Earth.

Brooke went back and forth, trying to decide if getting ahold of Jimmy's wife and child to tell them about his death were in their best interests. If someone close to Brooke died, she thought she'd want to know about it. And yet, it seemed cruel to bring news of Jimmy back to his wife, Amelia, only for the news to be that he had died, horrendously, at the hands of an Archangel. Amelia had been devout before Jimmy had ever been taken as Castiel's vessel. Brooke had no idea what the woman thought of God or angels now, but she had to assume they weren't good thoughts. Why cause her more pain by explaining that an angel had killed her husband, especially since it had been a year since she'd even seen him? Besides, Brooke had no idea where Amelia even was. There was a large part of her that truly wanted to tell Amelia about Jimmy, yet every time she pictured herself doing so, she couldn't get Amelia's face out of her head, couldn't stop imagine her demanding to know why Brooke had even showed up, and had it only been to hurt her?

As for Castiel, he felt awful about Jimmy's death, but was in the same boat as Brooke in terms of telling Amelia about it. He felt he'd already done enough damage to Amelia and the child, Claire. He figured he should probably leave well enough alone. Now that Jimmy Novak's body was _his_ body, he thought it would be cruel to go to Amelia, looking like Jimmy, only to be told that Jimmy was dead. It would be like staring at the ghost of her husband.

Lacking anything substantial to do memorialize Jimmy's death, Brooke had taken them to some local cemetery as they were driving through Utah on their way to nowhere. They got out of the car and simply walked among the graves, silent and pensive as they went. There was a large tree in one area of the cemetery that Brooke felt drawn to. She and Castiel walked over to it, and she sat down beneath its branches. "Jimmy was too good for any of this," she said. "He didn't deserve what happened to him. Amelia and Claire didn't deserve any of this, either."

Castiel was still standing, but he slowly lowered himself to the ground, sitting cross-legged. "I regret that he died. Now that the Apocalypse is over, he might have been able to return to his family safely." He sighed, staring up into the branches of the tree.

"I have to think it all meant something," Brooke murmured, and lay down in the grass.

"We saved the world," Castiel replied, absentmindedly brushing his fingers through her hair. "That means something."

"You're right. I probably shouldn't complain. I'd rather not tempt fate."

They stayed there for a while, silently, Brooke laying in the grass and Castiel sitting beside her.

Eventually, Castiel said, "You know I have to return to Heaven soon."

"I know."

He looked down at her. "When I leave, I… I don't know when, or _if_ , I'll be able to return. Raphael is up in Heaven right now, causing chaos… and with God gone…"

Brooke smiled up at him. "I live in your head, Cass," she said, gently. "You gotta go be God's good little soldier. I know."

"That sounded a little condescending," he said, looking at her askance.

"Hey," she replied, pointing at him. "Remember what I said: only family can tease you, and we do it cos we love you."

He smiled and looked away.

There was another long silence, and then he looked at her again. "Will you be all right… if I leave?"

She sighed, taking a moment to gather her thoughts. There was an ache in her chest, a hole already slowly widening where Castiel was supposed to be, and he hadn't even left yet. "I'd like to think that I'm a strong, independent woman, and that my relationship with you doesn't define my entire life… except that my relationship with you has defined my entire life for the past two years." She looked up at him, reaching up to touch his face. "I dunno, Cass," she admitted. "We'll just have to see how I do. I'll get back into Hunting full-time, probably. I tried to get out of the life before and we saw how that turned out. Lucifer might be back in his box, but there are still demons and ghosts and monsters to Hunt. And with Sam and Dean outta commission…" She shrugged.

Castiel nodded, placing his hand over hers. "Next time, don't forget to bring something silver to a vampire fight," he told her.

"Hey," she said, sitting up and laughing, "I didn't know it was a vampire, okay?" Then she burst into tears.

In a rush of wind, she was suddenly sitting in the backseat of her car, wrapped in Castiel's arms. For just a little while, she allowed herself to be a blubbering mess in his lap. She felt his own sadness, but there was a resolve within him that could only be described as angelic. His duties to Heaven had to come first, and they had both known it for some time. He promised he would try to keep in touch, try to come to her in dreams if he could, try to tell her he was all right… but they both knew he could die in the coming war with Raphael.

They had promised one another to stay by each other's sides, but they both knew that Brooke could not ascend to Heaven with Castiel. A mortal would die upon entering Heaven if they were still alive. So this was it, possibly for only a little while, but possibly forever. Castiel did not cry with Brooke, but she could feel his heart breaking as much as hers was. They sat in the backseat of her car for a long time. Eventually, Brooke stopped crying, but it hadn't really made her feel any better. She knew that, were it not for her, Castiel would have already left for Heaven. She knew he was avoiding the inevitable for her, and she couldn't ask him to stay forever.

"Give me one more night," she whispered.

"Yes," he said.

###

He came to her that night in her motel room, looking all kinds of nervous and vulnerable and human. His body was his own, now, and no other souls resided within him. There were parts of both of them—Castiel and Brooke—that thought of Jimmy as he came nearer to her, but Jimmy was dead, and there was nothing either of them could do for him now. And this was the last night they would see each other for God knew how long.

Brooke felt a little calmer as she realized that Castiel was, somehow, more nervous than she was. All that bravado and confidence melted away the moment he realized that real sex involved _all_ of the body. Now that he had begun to understand this body as his own, he seemed more fragile within it, even despite knowing that, with his angel powers intact again, almost nothing could really damage it.

They undressed, slowly, together, and Castiel seemed to feel calmer once he no longer had to worry about clothing. Brooke noticed, with amusement, the way he _carefully_ removed his tie and shoes, remembering the way she had yelled at him the last time.

She took the time to sit with him, naked and side by side, and explain how a condom worked and how to put one on. The break in emotions to explain something logically helped to calm him further. Instructions were something he understood, as a soldier. He stared at her very seriously as she explained never to open a condom package with his teeth, or to let a girl (any girl) put one on him with their mouth.

"Now," she said, smiling at him. "The last time you had an orgasm, you exploded all the windows in about twenty cars. Is that gonna happen again? Because we're in a motel room and I can't afford awkward questions or being charged with destruction of property."

He was still staring at her with a completely serious expression. "I can control it," he said, his voice deeper and more gravelly than usual.

"Good," she said, and handed him the condom.

Castiel grew in confidence steadily after the initial awkwardness had worn off. Actually, Brooke found him to be a surprisingly competent lover—though, perhaps, she shouldn't have found it surprising. Being inside her head meant that he knew everything she wanted, before even _she_ knew what she wanted, and once his angelic levels of confidence returned, she found that he had no inhibitions. He also had angelic levels of stamina…

Towards the end of the night, when Brooke had reached a point of ecstasy that she had not previously known existed, she could feel him reaching his own limit. Sweat ran down both of their bodies, and all they knew was the sound of each other breathing. She sat atop him and he stared up at her, laying down on the bed. As he grew closer and closer to climax, she began to feel a sort of electric crackle in the air. Outside, the wind began to howl and rain began to patter against the roof.

_Are you doing that?_ she asked, unable to even speak.

He did not answer her, but kept moving, and the more he moved, the louder and stronger the storm raged. There was a tightening in her body, in his, in the air around them. Brooke, who had already reached her limit multiple times, could feel herself beginning again.

Castiel sat up, suddenly, and the motion caused Brooke to cry out. His eyes began to glow, and the Grace in both of their bodies hummed loudly. The air tightened even more, and outside, the wind slammed against the motel room, the rain so loud that it drowned out even the sounds that Brooke was making. The lights in their room began to flicker. Castiel's entire body seemed to shake. Brooke's mind was numb, all thought between the both of them having ceased completely. Instead, all she heard was a ringing in her ears…

All that tension released, suddenly. The window did not, in fact, explode, but one of the lightbulbs did. Brooke felt, simultaneously, her own pique, as well as his. Behind all the ringing in her ears, she could hear her own ragged breathing, and she could hear his. He was saying her name, his voice hoarse and deep and compelling. The window rattled loudly, the wind outside slamming against it. The rain roared down onto the roof of the motel…

###

The next time that Brooke became aware of her body, she was laying in the bed, Castiel laying beside her. The storm had mostly abated, though a light sprinkling still pattered on the roof. The light was slowly shifting in the room. It was almost dawn. She turned in the bed and looked at him, tracing her fingers across his arm. He brought his head closer to her, resting his forehead against hers. Together, they breathed, and allowed their thoughts to flow freely between each other. Slowly, the room lightened more and more.

Dawn came and went.

Castiel pulled back from her, cupping her face in his hand. "I will come back to you," he said.

She nodded, sighed, closed her eyes. Tears rolled down her face, but she swiped them away. She opened her eyes and her gaze roamed across his face, memorizing it.

He got out of the bed and slowly dressed.

She stayed where was, watching him. He pulled on the trench coat— _technically an overcoat_ —and stood at the foot of the bed. She saw his wings unfold and spread, and she basked in the glow of his light. There was a rustling sound, and a breeze gently caressed her face.

He was gone.

END.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is the end of Book One! I will put up the first chapter of Book Two shortly. Book Two will be called "Kept" as the main title. Thanks to everyone who had read up to this point! You're the reason I keep writing! Love you all.


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